Page 79 of Shrapnel

“And yet I’ve seen you guzzling down a BLT like your life depended on it.”

Owen bristled. “I eat sandwiches normally.”

“What I’m saying,” Adam continued. “Is that as a kid you didn’t like tomatoes. Now you do. Sexuality can be the same.”

“So…all people born straight can turn gay?”

“Oh my God.” Adam sneered at him. “Are you intentionally stupid? I saidcan be.Not every Johnny Boat Shoes is going to have a bi awakening. No one turns anything. You are or you aren’t. You might realize it, or you might meet someone who makes you realize it.”

Adam looked physically pained at Owen’s obvious confusion.

“Look, I’m saying that sexuality isn’t a one-way street. Or a river. Or whatever the fuck metaphor people want to use. It isn’t a big deal. Fuck who you want.” He paused, seeming to consider something. “You know, as long as they’re consenting and stuff.”

“Labels, names, all that shit doesn’t matter.” He cocked his head. “You know, they said that the Bible was translated wrong. Shocking, I know. A book that was spread through word of mouth for hundreds of years before some dumbtwat decided to write it down might bewrongbut whatever. It says that man shouldn’t lie with boy. So there are apparent limits to Jesus’ love…”

Adam continued but Owen tuned out, sensing the conversation had gone off the tracks.

Could he…could he have romantic feelings for Jamie? He began chewing on his fingernails, peeling the cuticles back.

Owen wasn’t a big dater. He’d only dated a handful of girls, none of them serious. Dating and romance just hadn’t been a big priority for him. He always figured one day he’d meet the one and it would all fall into place. Perhaps that’s why all his relationships had failed—he was always assuming that if it was meant to be, it would. That he didn’t have to put any work into it.

Regardless of how he felt about Jamie—he had to apologize. He had hurt him, sent him away into the night when he was bleeding and in need of a friend. It was the lowest thing he could do. He had to make it up to him.

Wheeling around in his new chair, he logged onto his computer. He hadn’t lied when he told Elijah that the CCTV footage was a bust. But an anonymous friend on a web forum had given him a new idea.

Owen had been focused on trying to fix the corrupted data. That was a dead end. Bringing up the files he uploaded them into a new program and began running some tests.

Fail.

Frustrated, he pulled up some of the other footage. All the crime scenes and surrounding areas. All completely corrupted.

But the last one he tried worked. It was from Andrew’s crime scene. Slowly, he began cleaning through the garbage and he got an image. He had to bite his lip to keep from jumping up in excitement. Slowly he peeled back the layers until the image cleared up.

He recognized the alley from the pictures Noah provided. The frame rate was terrible, slow, and clunky, but it was enough. Owen held his breath as he scanned back. Finally, he saw what he was looking for.

A grainy image of a man in a dark jacket and low ballcap was dragging a body. Pulling him by his wrists, he dropped Andrews in the middle of the alley. Then he looked up, his face almost turning to the camera, before reaching to his mouth and tossing something.

Was it gum? Owen couldn’t tell. Clicking furiously, he pulled up the evidence files. The crime scene unit had pulled thousands of prints, fibers, and various other substances. But no gum. Owen snatched his phone, pulling up Elijah’s contact.

Jackson looked about as out of place in White Sand Mesa as he probably felt. The big mercenary’s lips were twisted in a cruel sneer as he glanced around at the dust-covered furniture. Jamie smirked as he led him through the glass atrium and into the part of the mansion that was habitable.

“What do you even do with all this space?” he asked with an arched brow.

“Nothing, apparently,” Jamie answered as he tugged at one of the sheet-covered chairs just inside the glass doors from the atrium.

He had briefed Jackson on the way to White Sand Mesa. The mercenary was less than interested in the murders—his only job was to keep Noah safe. But Jamie had seen the way he had looked over at him, watching as Jamie explained.

“You’ve looked into Noah? How much could you have possibly needed to research? You’ve got the guy right there.”

Jamie glanced over at Jackson slyly. “You of all people should know that I’m better than that.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “You start with their parents. In Noah’s case, that part was easy. The Beckett’s sent their kids to the same hoity toity private school as Michael Elliott. Classic case of the douchebag who reforms himself the moment he meets the girl of his dreams.”

“And this is helpful…?”

“You see, Jackie Boy, when a boy meets a girl he really loves—”

Jackson sighed. “I don’t want to hear about this.”

“Right, sorry. I forgot—you hate women.”