Page 98 of Three

Until he’s behind me. I smell his cool fragrance first, it wraps around me like a balmy blanket. Then Ramiel’s warm palms slide from my lower back to my front. His solid body winds around me. His lips kiss between my shoulder blades. I close my eyes as I feel his breath through the shirt. I look down at his pale hands stroking my pecs with such a gentle touch.

A ball of emotion builds inside my throat. “Why?”

“I don’t know. But I will find out,” Ramiel promises me, tightening his grip on me. It’s the only thing that holds me steady. His sweet presence near me.

“It could be the cock accountant,” Lori suddenly declares.

“Martin Cox,” Gabe corrects him.

Lori continues, “I’ll go and ask him some questions.”

“Do that. Serena will give you the directions to his place,” Ramiel tells him. “Raph…”

“I’ll go with him.” Gabe’s words interrupt his.

There’s silence.

“Why?” Lori sounds shocked and clearly not happy about it.

But when I turn my head, Gabe is opening the front door and exiting the house without a backward glance.

“Bloody hell! Why did I leave the club earlier? I could be having fun with Ricky Martin’s lost brother right now!” The click of Lori’s heels echoes in the living room as he angrily grabs his phone and follows Gabe. “Ollie call Super Model. I—” His voice is cut off by the front door closing.

Ramiel lets me go to check my hand. It fucking aches, my knuckles are split and bloody, but I can move my fingers, no broken bones.

“Michael?” he calls his brother. Michael leaves his husband’s lap to get a look. “I’m a doctor,” he tells me.

“Medical examiner,” Uri corrects him.

“I went to medical school, you dick!”

They pull me to the sink and wash my knuckles before Michael grabs an ice pack from the freezer and lays it on top of my hand.

Uri’s phone rings, and as soon as he answers, Rague says, “Malcom Bindy.”

“He’s dead,” Raph reminds him.

“The letter, maybe there’s a clue in it regarding Loretta and the words he wrote before dying: D-I.”

Damn, Ramiel asked me to show him, but between the shooting and his injury I completely forgot.

“Can we see it?” Michael asks me. I nod and walk to my desk, opening the drawer with my good hand to retrieve it. It’s still in that cheap, brownish envelope.

Ramiel takes it from me and goes over to Michael and Uri.

“There’s only your name on the envelope. Which means Malcom came in person,” Uri notices.

“It was left on my bike outside a supermarket,” I tell them.

Michael tries to flatten the wrinkled paper. I might have crushed it between my hands after realizing what it was.

“His writing is a mess,” Ramiel states while taking a picture of it. “Rague, I sent it to you.”

“I couldn’t read it well either,” I tell him.

Michael gives it a try. “I know the truth. After all…these years—Iloan?”

“No, I think that’s an f and a u…found.I found,” Uri says.