Page 107 of Pretty Poison

“Yeah, there’s that. The reporter backed up his claim with recorded phone calls and copies of his emails. Duggins was stupid enough to send a copy of the goodbye Julia wrote to her family from his USMS email address.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, this guy is no criminal mastermind.”

“Will you send those things to me?”

“Already did it.” Rocky thanked Jude, then disconnected.

Asher was in the backyard chatting with Cal over the fence when they arrived home. Fiona leaped and bounded across the yard to get to him, and he crouched down to greet her.

“She sure is a pretty thing,” the neighbor said.

“Thanks, Cal.”

Asher must’ve heard something off in Rocky’s tone because he snapped his head up and met his gaze. He stood up and gently clapped the neighbor’s shoulder. “It was good catching up with you, Cal. I’m going to head inside so we can start dinner.”

“See you guys later,” the older man said. “Bye, Fiona.”

Once inside the kitchen, Asher placed his hands on Rocky’s hips. “What’s wrong?”

Rocky repeated his conversation with Jude before pulling up the documentation he’d emailed.

“Jesus,” Asher said. “He’s going to lose his job for this.”

“Someone like him doesn’t deserve to wear a badge and carry a gun,” Rocky replied. “Do you want to talk to Director Bradshaw, or do you want me to do it?”

“I’ll call him.”

“When?”

Asher took a deep breath. “Now. Mind if I borrow your office?”

“Of course not.” Rocky kissed Asher, then turned to the refrigerator. “I’ll get dinner started.”

Rocky could hear the timbre of Asher’s voice but not the individual words. He could tell the conversation was solemn and mostly one-sided, with Asher doing most of the heavy lifting. By the time his husband returned to the kitchen, Rocky had diced the onions and peppers and was sautéing them in olive oil.

“Are you okay?” Rocky asked.

Asher wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin on Rocky’s shoulder. “Not really. Bradshaw is pissed. It was the right thing to do, but it doesn’t feel good.”

“I’m sorry.”

Asher tightened his hold. “Don’t be. I’d love to think this is the end, but we both know better.”

“We do. We’ll handle it when the time comes.”

Hours? Days? Weeks? The wait wouldn’t be fun, but Rocky had plenty of ideas about how they could distract themselves. He was just about to demonstrate one of those ways a few hours later when his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and said, “Showtime.”

Asher sat up straighter. He held out his phone, but Rocky shook his head.

“This is my battle to fight.” Then he opened his recorder app and hit the red button before answering the call on speakerphone. He briefly pressed his finger to his lips urging Asher to let him handle this. “Duggins,” Rocky said calmly.

“You think you won, don’t you?”

“You sound a little drunk, Duggy.”

“Only my friends can call me that.”