Page 16 of Devil's Hour
“True, but Dad said I’d chosen a good man. That means the world to me.” Zeke looked at Blue and swallowed hard. “The secret really strained our relationship the past three years, huh, babe?”
Blue grimaced slightly. “I’d say tested instead of strained. I was never giving up on you, no matter what.”
“A part of me says I could’ve saved Blue and me a lot of heartaches if only I’d come out sooner, but there’s no way for me to be certain how my parents would’ve reacted. You’ll know when the time is right, Royce,” Zeke said gently. “In the meantime, you’ve got us, and we’ll have your back.”
Royce smiled at Zeke, then turned to look at Blue. “You’ve found a keeper, Blue.”
Blue’s smile was so blindingly bright Royce wished he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the car. “Damn right, I have.”
Realizing they needed to leave for Skip Goodwin’s house soon, the guys set aside the chitchat and dug into their food. Once he finished, Royce wiped his face and sat back in his seat, sated and full. “Zeke, could you look around those three fire sites to see if you can find any similarities between them? It’s doubtful there’s any viable evidence at this point since the properties weren’t secured and were instead abandoned to the elements—human and natural. Every kid in the neighborhood has probably tromped through the homes.”
“I’ll probably have to do it off duty to avoid detection, but yeah.”
“I’ll help you, babe,” Blue said. “I don’t want you there by yourself anyway. I can’t say for sure there’s a vigilante group hell-bent on purifying the city, but I don’t want you getting caught up in something.”
“I agree,” Sawyer said. “We’ll give you our numbers too. If Blue can’t be there, give us a call. We need to watch each other’s backs.”
They all nodded, then Zeke exchanged numbers with Royce and Sawyer before parting ways.
Once outside the restaurant, Sawyer snatched the key fob for the Charger out of Royce’s hands.
“Hey,” Royce said. “What’s that for?”
“I need something to do with my hands,” Sawyer said, his voice low and rough, making Royce’s dick twitch.
“Yeah?” he asked, sliding into the passenger side. “Why’s that?”
Sawyer started the car and gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Because I always follow the rules, remember?”
Royce balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. “Which rules are you tempted to break?”
Sawyer turned his head and met Royce’s gaze, allowing him to see every emotion Sawyer felt for him—lust, admiration, friendship, and something so much stronger. “When it comes to you? All of them, and it would be worth every fucking consequence.”
Sawyer turned his head to look out the windshield, shifted the car into drive, and eased into traffic like he hadn’t just rocked Royce’s world.
The Goodwins lived on Whitaker Street in Victorian District West overlooking the southwest corner of the famed Forsythe Park. The tall, narrow Victorian home with its turret tower, soft peach paint, white gingerbread trim, and a wraparound porch invited a person to escape the scorching summer heat to watch the world go by in a rocking chair while drinking lemonade, sweet tea, or mint juleps. Like the homes in the Victorian District, the Goodwins’ stately manor was built in the 1800s and had withstood unimaginable hardships, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. Royce thought the old dame would have some fantastic stories to share if she could talk.
Mr. Goodwin opened the front door before they reached the top porch step. He dressed like an accountant with a dull, pale blue, button-up shirt and a pair of khaki pants. Goodwin also wore the retro, thick rectangular eyeglasses men preferred these days, but his frames were a dark gray instead of the usual black and set off his blue eyes. Skip Goodwin greeted them with a warm smile even if he hadn’t been happy about the intrusion earlier on the phone. Smoothing his hands over his thick, auburn hair, the man released a long breath, like he’d been running nonstop all day and was grateful for the break.
“Sergeant Locke,” Royce said, shaking the man’s hand, noting his firm grip and seeming reluctance to let go. “This is my partner, Detective Key,” he added, forcing the man to shift his attention to Sawyer and drop his hand.
“Good to meet you, sir, although I wish it were under better circumstances,” Sawyer said politely.
Goodwin’s eyes slightly widened when meeting Sawyer’s gaze, and his smile grew bigger when they shook hands. “Call me Skip,” he said, then tilted his head slightly while studying Sawyer. “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
“I just have that kind of face,” Sawyer quipped.
“No,” Call Me Skip said, slowly shaking his head. “That isdefinitelynot true.” The entire encounter felt off and not what Royce had predicted based on his tone and attitude earlier on the phone. What had changed in the few hours since they’d spoken? As if sensing Royce’s heavy scrutiny, Call Me Skip aimed a conciliatory smile his way. “I apologize for my brusque demeanor this morning, Detective.”
“Sergeant,” he corrected, although he had no idea why he bothered. Yeah, Royce knew why. He’d had to stand there while Call Me Skip eye-fucked Sawyer. He should be used to it, but he wasn’t and probably never would be. It was a drastic change from his former “no strings” lifestyle to his “do not so much as look at my man” attitude, leaving him dizzy and stunned one person could impact his life so much.
“Ah, yes. You did tell me thattwice. Won’t you come in?” He stepped back and to the side so they could enter the home.
Stepping inside the home was like taking a trip in a time machine. The formal sitting room consisted of ornate woodwork, including a gaze-grabbing fireplace, luxurious fabrics in fussy prints, and curvy, fragile-looking furniture that reminded him of the kind in his sister’s dollhouse growing up. The color theme was ivory, beige, and various shades of peach. Royce hoped like hell Call Me Skip didn’t want to talk in there because a chair would crumble beneath his weight, and replacing it would probably cost more than his next paycheck. On the opposite side of the hallway was their formal dining room with another stunning fireplace and a long table with enough chairs to seat a dozen people or more.
“Would it be rude if I asked if we could conduct this interview in the kitchen while I eat?” He lifted his arm and checked his watch. “I don’t have much time left before the next conference call.”
“It’s no problem,” Sawyer said agreeably. “You’re the one doing us a favor.”