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“Maybe because I’m wearing glasses.”

“Very stylish, too. You’re definitely in the running forGQ’s PI of the Year Award.”

Zach’s mouth popped open to ask why the fuck Flint had to be such a nonstop A-hole at such a time, when it dawned on him that all this poking and prodding was Flint’s idiosyncratic way of keeping him from slipping back into that shocked, numb state of near inertia in which he’d arrived on the welcome mat of Carey Confidential.

So instead of responding as Flint no doubt anticipated, Zach said calmly, “Bill Cameron with EDS police department is my godfather. I’ll give him a call.”

Flint picked up his coffee cup—and put it down again. “Lt. Cameron is your godfather?”

Zach nodded.

“That’s news.”

Zach shrugged.

Flint said, “Yeah, talking to Cameron would be a very good idea. And I’ll touch base with my guy at the sheriff’s office. We can compare notes on our way to talk to Elvira.”

“Who?”

“Elvira. Queen of the Night. Never mind. You wouldn—”

Zach interrupted, “Do you mean Elvira, Mistress of the Dark?”

Flint blinked, then said mildly, “I stand corrected.”

Zach rose. “If we’re working together, it won’t be the last time.”

Flint gave a funny laugh. “Oh-kay, then.”

“When did you want to meet up?”

Flint threw a distracted look at his watch. “Not counting last night, the missus is supposed to always be home. Let’s see if we can catch her at lunch.”

“Sure. Why not?”

As if Zach had objected, Flint said, “I can be very charming when I have to be.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Zach reached for the doorknob, but then stopped. He turned back to Flint.

“You know, being gay doesn’t automatically make you pervy.”

“Huh?” Flint sounded genuinely taken aback.

“Alton wasn’t pervy because he was gay.”

“Are you for real?”

“Yes. I’m for real. Alton obviously had some…I don’t know. Quirks. But the fact that he was maybe struggling with his sexuality is a whole different issue. Being gay doesn’t make you a pervert.”

Flint’s laugh was disbelieving.

“Go to hell.” Zach opened the door, only to have it slammed shut. He turned to find Flint right behind him—so close that Zach had to lean against the door to avoid bumping noses.

Flint was speaking, but for a moment or two, Zach was distracted by this unexpected proximity to another man’s hard, muscular body. Flint’s breath, laced with coffee and a hint of whisky, warmed his face. Flint’s eyes, that unusual green-gold—electrum? Was that what it was called?—stared intently, unblinkingly, into his own.

“What are you— What do you think I’m saying?”

It took Zach a moment to process Flint’s words. And then… Good question. Because in Zach’s—okay, somewhat limited experience—straight guys did not typically invade your personal space while gazing deeply into your eyes and almost,almost, brushing mouths.