Page 47 of Killer Honeymoon

Sawyer met his gaze and smirked. “The only option we have.” When Royce only quirked a brow, Sawyer continued. “We’ll want to stay off Chesterfield’s radar, so we’ll have to discreetly Hardy Boys this shit.”

Again, Sawyer charmed the hell out of him. “I’m thinking Horny Boys is a more appropriate description for us.”

Sawyer playfully slapped his arm and said, “Not now.”

Royce heaved a disappointed sigh. “Married less than a week, and he’s already sick of me.”

Sawyer looked at him, and his chocolate brown gaze softened. “Never in a million years will I ever get tired of being with you, in you, on you, or any other variation you’ll allow.” He leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss against Royce’s lips. “Right now, Frank needs us more. The cops don’t know we’re detectives, and we need to use that to our advantage.”

“If we get arrested,” Royce said, “I will not hesitate to throw you under Mendoza’s bus.”

Sawyer laughed and kissed him again. “Understood. I guess we should start down at the harbor. We need to find the witnesses who saw the argument between Frank and Moore.”

“Nope,” Royce said. “We need to start by talking to the sociopath across the street who was also MIA during the storm.”

Sawyer took Royce’s remark like a sucker punch to the gut. “Why the hell hadn’t I thought of that?”

“Because you were more focused on making sure Frank was okay,” Royce replied. “It had slipped my mind until we were on our way home.”

Sawyer pivoted and strode toward the front door, but Royce raced ahead and blocked his path. “What are you doing?”

Royce gripped both his biceps and said, “Making sure we have a solid game plan in place. Cooler heads need to prevail here.”

Sawyer studied his husband through narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my husband?”

“Come on. You know I’m right,” Royce said. “We never go into an interrogation without a game plan. This is no different. We have to be even more strategic since we don’t have our badges.”

“Or guns.”

“That’s right,” Royce said. “Whoever killed Lester Moore is likely still on the island. Our only weapons are our brains.”

“And yours are in your pants half the time,” Sawyer teased.

“Thinking up ways to get into your pants would be a more accurate statement,” Royce countered. “But seriously, let’s take a brief pause and write down what we know so far.”

“Fine,” Sawyer grumbled. He turned around and headed back into the kitchen to retrieve the notebook and pen he’d used to make his to-do lists. “Besides Frank, we know at least two other people who had contentious relationships with Lester Moore and may have confronted him.” He held up a finger a la Royce style and said, “Evan, the sociopath.” He added a second finger. “And Gary, his minion property manager.”

Royce reached over and pulled up Sawyer’s ring finger. “The boat captain slash bodyguard. They had a heated argument after the boat was vandalized, and Moore fired him. Rumor has it the captain said Les would live to regret firing him. One of those stereotypical B-movie lines.”

“I forgot about him,” Sawyer said. “I’m losing my touch.”

“No way,” Royce replied. “You just need to do your breathing exercises to center yourself. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

Sawyer knew Royce was right, but he felt too amped up to attempt cleansing breaths. Then again, that’s when he knew he needed them most. Sawyer closed his eyes, forced all thoughts out of his head, and focused on the air flowing in and out of his body. He cycled through five deep breaths and reopened his eyes to find Royce jotting down notes on a clean page. He’d written SUSPECTS, MOTIVE, and OPPORTUNITY at the top, then listed the four names in the first column. Sawyer hated seeing Frank’s name on the list, but he knew it was the responsible thing to do. Sawyer couldn’t allow sentimentality to cloud his judgment.

“Feeling better?” Royce asked without looking up.

Sawyer pressed against his back and circled his arms around Royce’s waist. He settled his chin on his husband’s shoulder and felt a sense of peace wash over him. “Much. Thank you.” Sawyer’s gratitude went beyond Royce’s gentle reminder to take some deep breaths. It meant so much to him that Royce acknowledged and accepted Sawyer’s anxieties and helped him work through them.

“Call your uncle to get a criminal defense lawyer referral while I fill out what we know,” Royce said.

Sawyer stepped away and had a brief conversation with his uncle Huxley. He provided a recommendation and phone number for an attorney.

“Are we still on for dinner before you head back to Savannah?” Huxley asked.

“Yes, sir. And thank you for your help.”

After they disconnected, Sawyer dialed the attorney’s personal cell phone number.