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Archive for the tag “lgbt”

Free short story: Hunters’ Sacrifice

I wrote the story below as a flash fiction prompt in the YA LGBT Books group on Goodreads.
It was a beautiful sunset.
Large swaths of burnt orange and amethyst swept across the sky, and all I could think was: I hope it’s not our last.
Kevin faltered to a stop, breathing hard. His normally pale complexion was flushed a deep red from exertion and his long limbs trembled with exhaustion.
“I don’t know if I can keep going,” he said.
I wanted to tell him he could rest. I wanted to pull him close, and let him lean on me until his heart calmed and his breathing slowed. I wanted a of things, but I couldn’t have them.
Not if we wanted to survive.
“You want to be the their dinner?” I asked in a harsh tone. He flinched, and I hardened my heart against those wide blue eyes so full of fear. “They won’t stop, so neither can we.”
“But, I don’t hear anything. Just for a few minutes? Please?”
“No.”
I adjusted the pack on my back, attempting to ease the ache of straps digging into my flesh and the weight of supplies that grew heavier with every step. Without checking on Kevin, I started trudging down the mountainside.
He would follow. He’d follow, or he’d die.
Sometimes, it seemed as if I’d loved Kevin forever. Surely longer than our 17 years of life. Longer than the decades of hunts. Longer even than the war that prompted desperate villages to agree to sacrifice two adolescents every year to the Hunters who dwelled in the woods in exchange for peace.
The Hunters that were half fact and half myth and entirely a mystery.
Some said they were primitive men and women, raised in the woods as survivalists and trained in the art of hunting and tracking their prey, be it animal or human. Others said they were beasts, wild animals that hungered for flesh and could be appeased only by a sacrifice of fresh meat.
The most frightening rumor, though, was that they were a blend of man and beast, with the appetite of an animal and the intellect of a human.
Whatever they were, no sacrifice had ever returned to our village, or any of the others, as far as I’d heard.
But I wasn’t hopeless.
If we survived this, we would never return, either. I’d take Kevin far away, and I’d protect him from the people who forfeited our lives.
He’d never love me back. I’d come to terms with that a long time ago, even before I started pushing him ruthlessly, berating him cruelly if it would yield just one more step.
“We’re gonna die anyway,” he muttered behind me, as we stumbled our way through the trees.
I whirled on him and clutched his arms. “Shut up! You’re going to freaking live if it kills me, Kev. Just. Keep. Going.”
“I can’t!” he wailed, sagging in my grip. I had to release him or fall to the ground, too.
He collapsed in the dirt, between limbs covered in prickly pine needles that itched like the devil. He leaned back into a low-hanging bough and closed his eyes.
“Just leave me. You can make it, Aidan. You’re tough. I’m … not. Never will be.”
“Well, toughen up!” I demanded. “I’m not leaving, Kev. If you stay, I stay. If you die, I die.”
He groaned. “Why? You hate me, so … why?”
It shouldn’t have surprised me he believed that, yet it did. I loved him so hard I lived in terror he would see it shining out of my eyes, even as I said cutting, mean things to him to hide my feelings.
“I don’t hate you.”
He scoffed. “You told everyone I wet my pants in fear of the Hunters.”
His voice broke on the last word, and I winced. I’d had no idea he’d be facing the Hunters when I made that taunt years ago.
“We were just kids. I was a brat,” I said.
“You avoid me,” he pointed out. “When I walk into a room, you cross to the other side.”
I sighed. “What it does it matter now?”
“Because!” He shouted, working up a good fit of anger. “You make my life miserable!”
It was a relief to see his temper. The anger would pump adrenaline into his veins, and he’d find new stores of energy.
He lurched to his feet, adjusted his pack awkwardly and stomped past me. Smiling, I moved to follow, and he threw out his arm, nearly clothes-lining me.
“You go your way, and I’ll go mine.”
“Kev–”
“Don’t Kev me,” he growled. “Leave me the hell alone. I’ll either live or die on my own. I don’t need my last minutes to be with someone who can’t stand me.”
He pushed ahead, walking too fast. The sun had set while we argued, and this dense section of woods blocked out the few rays of light still fading in the sky.
“I don’t hate you,” I called. “Will you slow down?”
He stumbled over a fallen log, his hands flailed at his sides, and then he was gone.
My breath caught in my chest. “Kevin?” I called.
I strained to hear his voice, or some sign of his movement, as I hurried forward. The normally peaceful chirp of birds and the sighing of wind through tree limbs was anything but soothing now.
“Kevin!” I shouted again, even as my heart sank in my chest.
Ahead of me was the log that tripped him, and just beyond that, the crevice in the earth that had swallowed him.
I dropped to my knees at the edge, and peered down. It was darker than night at the bottom.
“Kev?” I called again. “Are you okay?”
I held my breath, praying to hear his voice once more, vowing to the Gods I’d tell him the truth about why I’d treated him so harshly, if only I got the chance. If only he lived.
“Ow. Oh Gods,” he groaned. Then a moment later, a loud shout: “Aidan? Are you out there? Aidan! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry. Help me!”
“Kevin! I’m here! Are you hurt?”
He shuffled around, cursing and making pained noises.
“It’s too deep to climb out, but only by about a foot or so. So, um … 7 or 8 feet deep, I guess? I’m bruised, but fine. Do you have rope?”
No, I didn’t. But I wouldn’t leave him there. If I could get to the bottom, I could boost him to the top, and then hope I could figure out some handholds to climb out myself.
“Get back. I’m coming down.”
“Aidan, wait–”
I swung over the edge, extending my full length so I could drop only the couple of feet left to the bottom. The soil pulled loose in my hands, and I fell into the darkness.
It should have taken only seconds to hit the bottom, but it didn’t happen. I fell, and fell.
When I hit bottom, a sharp pain shot through my ankle and I collapsed with a shout of pain.
“Aidan?”His voice floated to me in the darkness.
It was damp and cool in the chasm — and so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.
A touch whispered over my arm, and I flinched from it before I realized it was Kevin’s hand.
“You okay?” He asked.
“Seven or 8 feet? Really?” I asked in a sharp tone, before I remembered my resolve to tell Kevin the truth. To be kinder.
He sucked in a breath. “Sorry. I tried to tell you before you jumped that it was a blind guess. I’m such a screw-up. No wonder you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
He laughed humorlessly. “I’ve basically gotten us both killed. Of course, you do.”
Exasperated, I reached out a hand blindly, fumbling it over his face until I felt the shape of his cheek under my palm.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t leave you, Kevin?” I said.
“I don’t know.” He sounded confused. “That’s what I can’t understand.”
I sucked in a breath to tell him, but the words lodged in my throat. I had to tell him, though. I’d vowed to the Gods I would, and everyone knew a broken vow brought only the worst misfortune.
Of course, in our present situation, misfortune seemed a given.
I wasn’t sure I could handle Kevin’s rejection as my last memory of him before death. I wanted to remember him as I’d seen him every day of our childhood: a golden-haired, blue-eyed, vibrant angel.
He was slender and a little gangly, yet somehow still graceful in his movements, and though he thought he was weak, I’d watched him long enough to know he was resilient.
I admired him, though I worked hard every day not to show it.
“Aidan?”
Laughter rang above our heads, and twigs and pine needles crunched under feet.
I clapped a hand over his mouth, as I strained to listen. I hoped they’d pass us by, but I suspected this chasm was a trap meant to deliver us into their hands … or paws.
This was my fault. Had I honored my vow, we might have yet escaped.
A lamp swung out over the chasm, and light filtered down between the rocks to shine in my eyes.
“Hello, boys! Nice of you to join us!” a deep voice bellowed.
So, they weren’t beasts. It was yet to be seen if they were entirely men.
Quickly, frantically, I turned to Kevin. If I wanted us to survive the night, I had to honor my promise to the Gods and pray they took mercy on me.
“I love you,” I blurted. “I was a brat because I didn’t want you to know.”
And then, unable to face the horrified expression that would cross his face any second, I pressed my lips to his in a brief kiss.
My heart raced and my palms sweat and it wasn’t at all what I’d dreamt when I’d imagined kissing Kevin.
There was too much fear and shock in me. I barely registered the sensation of his lips against mine.
“Climb the rope,” the voice from above called, and a moment later thickly braided rope thumped against the wall at our sides.
I turned to inspect it, finding that it had a large loop at the end for raising a rider. Good. I didn’t think my arms, or Kev’s, could handle a tough climb.
Grabbing it, I turned to him. “You first. Climb in.”
He leaned on me as he raised first one leg, then the other and slid into the makeshift seat.
“Aidan …”
I shook my head. “Not now,” I said. “I only told you because I made a vow and I had to honor it.”
Tugging on the rope, I called up to the men. “He’s ready!”
Kevin slowly ascended the wall, and then the rope was tossed back down to me. I wasn’t sure we’d made the right choice to put ourselves into these men’s hands. We could have died naturally, together, of starvation or thirst. It might have been better than what was in store. But it wasn’t in me to give up so easily.
I adjusted the rope under me, and began the ascent.
Minutes later, I was on firm ground beside Kevin. I couldn’t look him in the eye, and my ankle throbbed with every step, but we weren’t dead yet.
“What will you do with us?” Kevin asked in a shaky voice.
“Same as always, kid. Don’t look so frightened. You’ll thank us when it’s over.”
“Are you going to eat us?” he blurted.
I turned stunned eyes on Kevin as he stared down the huge man before us. He was a brute, I saw now that I was free of the darkness. He was tall, at least 7 feet, with broad shoulders and muscled arms. His hair was curly and wild, sticking up in all directions, and a thick beard covered his face.
A feral smile split his face, and my hopes sank in my stomach like a stone. There was a beastliness to this man that couldn’t be coincidence.
“You hear that, Hart,” he said, with a deep laugh. His eyes sparkled over his sharp grin as he turned to another hulked-out man beside him. “They’re telling them we eat them for dinner now.”
“So, you don’t?”
“Gods no, boy.”
“So, you kill us then,” Kevin said flatly, and it hurt my heart to hear the acceptance in his tone.
Unable to help myself, I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. He didn’t look at me, but he didn’t pull away.
“Relax, boys,” Hart said, his tones more civilized than his partner’s. “We’re not going to harm you. Come, we’ll tell you everything once get back to camp. You two look like you could use a meal and a rest.”
We had no choice but to follow. Thankfully, the camp wasn’t far, but it was still agony on my sore ankle. Kevin fell back to one side, wrapping an arm around my waist to lend support, and Hart yanked me gracelessly to my feet whenever I tripped and fell.
“What could they want?” He asked quietly.
“I don’t know.”
“They don’t need to lie. They’ve already won.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth, huh? We’re still alive.”
He nodded, and we fell into silence.
We were hustled to the fireside, and situated on a fallen log. Bowls of soup were pressed into our hands, followed by cups of water that we gulped greedily, dehydrated after our panicked flight through the forest during the heat of the late afternoon.
There were a handful of people in the camp, women and men. Not all of them were so intimidating as the two Hunters who’d caught us, but there was a sort of wildness to them.
“Hart tells me you’ve been misled about your fate,” a young woman with dark hair and intense eyes said.
“There are a lot of rumors,” I said carefully. “About who you are and what you do with the sacrifices.”
“They would call it a sacrifice,” she scoffed. “We call it a gift.”
Kevin stirred beside me. “A gift?”
A note of hope crept into his voice, and I hoped it wouldn’t be shattered before the night’s end. I was glad to hear some emotion from him. That flat, numb tone had torn me to pieces.
“Let me tell you a story,” she said.
I noticed the other Hunters gathering around and settling in with bowls of soup, as if she were about to tell stories by the campfire for their enjoyment and not share with us our fate, whatever it might be.
Kevin’s hand crept into mind, and I held it tight, bracing for the truth at last.
“A century ago, there were hundreds of our kind in this forest. We kept to ourselves, mostly. The woods provided what we needed to survive, and we were happy enough. Then the Hunters came–”
“What? But you’re the Hunters!” Kevin blurted.
The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, and one of the men cursed loudly, angrily. My hand tightened on Kev’s in fear, but no one made a move to hurt us.
“They call us the Hunters?” She said, sounding astonished, then let loose a sharp laugh. “That just figures, doesn’t it?”
It was a rhetorical question, obviously, and she continued to the tale.
“The Hunters came, and they started killing us. No doubt you’ve heard enough about us to know that we aren’t like most humans. We can call our beasts from within, and change into beautiful creatures that thrive in the woods, hunting and playing. The Hunters started killing us, mostly for our furs, but sometimes just for sport. It went on for years, decades. We tried to hide, we tried to relocate deeper within the forest, but the damage was done. We had to fight back for our own survival.”
“The war started,” I said.
She nodded. “Yes. And, it went on for ages. We had a tactical advantage. Our beasts are excellent trackers–”
“And hunters,” Kevin injected.
Did he want them to rip him to shreds?
I tensed beside him and cast him a look that conveyed my wish for him to shut up.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said. “In that way, perhaps their name for us makes sense. We began to hunt them. But we were disadvantaged by our dwindling numbers, and so the war went on year after year, decade after decade. Finally, we’d all had enough, and a truce was made.”
“Each village sacrifices two adolescents to a tribe of Hunters each year,” I said.
“Each village gives up two adolescents, yes. To join us,” she clarified. “We neared extinction during the war, and we’ve been trying to rebuild our population ever since. Once we reach a stable number, the villages will no longer contribute to our pool.”
I stared, stunned. In all of my speculations, I’d never considered that the village sacrifices might be joining the Hunters.
“You mean we’ll become like you?” Kevin asked.
“Yes.”
This time, I blurted the question. “But how?”
She waved a hand. “That is a long story, and it is quite late. You two need to rest. The transformation doesn’t come without a great deal of effort. Come, I’ll get you settled for the night.”
She stood and led us to a tent, complete with sleeping bags inside. At my astonished look, she cracked a grin.
“We’re not entirely animals, you know. This is just a temporary camp. We could sleep in our beast forms, and some of us will, but the rest of us want shelter from the elements.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Kevin and I crawled into our sleeping bags, close together in the small tent. I could hear his heavy sigh as we fully relaxed for the first time in nearly 12 hours.
“So, we’re not going to die,” Kevin murmured, mostly to himself.
“Looks that way.”
He cast a look my way. “Bet you’re regretting that confession right about now. Gonna go back to making my life miserable?”
I bristled. “I honored my vow, and we’re not dead,” I said shortly. “Hard to regret that.”
His hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed. “Aidan, I’m teasing.”
“It’s not a joke to me,” I said reluctantly.
He was right in a way. I hated that he knew my feelings, that he could use them against me. It felt like a weakness.
“Of course not. It’s just hard to believe,” he said.
I cleared my throat. “We don’t ever have to talk about this again, but I have to ask just once. Do you … I mean, do you want to–”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, not right now,” he clarified. “Right now, I still think you’re a jerk. And I’m still coming to terms with the whole not dying thing. Eventually, who knows? You did keep me alive, you and your vow to the Gods.”
He was teasing me again. I could hear it in his tone. He didn’t believe my vow had anything to do with our situation, and maybe he was right. But at least I wouldn’t have to face the idea that my cowardice had been our doom.
Kevin didn’t love me, didn’t want me. It was what I’d expected, and yet, he’d given me hope. Maybe, eventually he’d forgive the way I’d treated him while we were children. Maybe he’d come to love me in our new lives.
As men.
As Beasts.
As Hunters, giving new life to the packs that roamed these woods for centuries until our people came along to decimate them.
It was a sacrifice I was willing to make, especially with Kevin by my side.
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Freebies and new release news

Winter BlomI’m so very far behind on updating the blog. I blame “Winter Blom” — getting that novella done before Christmas wore me out!

And because Winter Blom is to blame for my lethargy, I am offering it free through Amazon this weekend to make up for my absence in writing/blogging/reviewing. You name it, and I’m behind in it!

You can find “Winter Blom” here. It’s only free Jan. 23 and 24, so don’t miss your chance to grab it!

In  other news, I recently received a message from a reader asking if I had any projects in the works. As a matter of fact, I do. Too many — which isn’t helping my focus — but I’ve finally set my next publish date!

“Earning Edie,” my first m/f romance — and a spin-off from the Ashe Sentinel series featuring Nick Espinoza — will release April 1. You can pre-order it now here.

Earning Edie will be available through several online bookstores when it releases and unlike the other Ashe Sentinel stories, it is a full-length novel. I am still finishing edits, but I’m somewhere in the 88,000 word range at this point.

There will be sequels to this book, and I’m not totally abandoning my m/m following with this series. At least one of the sequels will be a m/m romance. So I hope you’ll give the Espinoza Boys series a chance if you enjoyed my other writing.

Here’s a summary of the book:

Earning Edie _newcoverNick Espinoza is consumed by two things: guilt and ambition. After making a mistake he can’t atone for, his desire for success as a newspaper columnist compromises his integrity. But the consequences of his actions may just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Edie Mason is disappointed but not surprised when her parents don’t show up for her high school graduation. But after she inadvertently criticizes them in the newspaper, thanks to an unethical newspaper columnist in a deadline crunch, she finds herself homeless. Even worse, her dreams of going to college are at risk. Edie’s days as a shrinking wallflower are coming to an end, however. Propelled by anger and desperation, she seeks out Nick Espinoza to give him a piece of her mind — and an ultimatum: He made her homeless, so he can offer up his home as a place to stay while she works nonstop to earn college tuition.

Pressured by management, Nick is desperate to win over the hearts of readers — and Edie Mason’s story is a perfect start. He isn’t prepared for the fall-out that follows, or for the lonely graduate to have so much spunk. Confronted by his mistakes, and consumed by guilt over his past, Nick finds himself opening his home — and his heart — to Edie. But can he ever come clean about his past and truly earn Edie’s trust without losing everything?

“Earning Edie” is the first of the Espinoza Boys series.

 

 

Building up the gay steampunk genre

A remark by an author I follow made me start thinking about the gay steampunk genre, because, yes, LGBT authors have tackled this style of storytelling alongside the more commonly seen romance, suspense, mystery and fantasy.

Not everyone understands the meaning of steampunk in general. There are varying definitions, but basically, it’s a subgenre of science fiction/fantasy that features advanced machines or other technology typically taking place in a historical period or fantasy world. The exact definition would call for this technology to be based on the steam power of the 19th century, but my interpretation is a little looser based on the books I see. Basically, anything that’s set in a historic period — in this world or another — and incorporates futuristic technology that did not exist in that period could be considered some variation of steampunk.

After RJ Scott made a comment on Goodreads about gay steampunk, I did a mental inventory and realized I had several books in this subgenre without realizing it.

Here are a few authors of gay steampunk you could explore:

sasha

Sasha L. Miller, author of “Stolen Hearts” and “The Novelty Maker.”

Sasha’s “Stolen Hearts” blends magic and mechanics, when a fairy is in danger of dying after his heart is stolen and replaced by a charm.

See the book on Amazon

 

gearheartHollis Shiloh, author of “Gearheart,” “Wes & Kit” and “Cold Hands, Warm Heart,” among others.

Several of Shiloh’s gay steampunk books take place in a world where men who might have died during the war were saved with the help of mechanical parts, only to be discarded and discriminated once the war is over.

Find “Gearheart” on Amazon

 

spiritsJordan L. Hawk, author of the Spirits series (and other fantasy reads). This one might be skirting the line of the steampunk genre definition, but it has elements that fit.

The Spirits series in set in a historic period, in which a scientist and a medium partner to confront a haunting. The devices invented by Henry Strauss give this series a steampunk feel, even if it doesn’t entirely fit. Find books here

Amber Kell, author of “Keys.” Kell is just venturing into gay steampunk, and “Keys” is the result. I have not read this book, but it definitely fits the subgenre. Find the book.

Have you read any gay steampunk? My list is pretty short, so please offer up some reading suggestions!

DJ Jamison is a book blogger and author of the Ashe Sentinel Connections series of novellas (not steampunk). To explore her books — including a freebie — click here

A sneak peek at “Rewriting His Love Life”

“Rewriting His Love Life,” the third novella in the Ashe Sentinel Connections series, releases Oct. 1. Here’s a sneak peek at the book that tells Archer’s story.  You can pre-order “Rewriting His Love Life” on Amazon and other e-book retailers. Find it on Amazon.

Chapter 1

rewritinghislovelifeA moving truck idled in the fire lane in front of Archer’s five-story apartment building. From across the parking lot, he could just make out the blocky shape under the building’s security lights.

But a moving truck at midnight?

Weird. Archer glanced at the dash clock in his car, though he didn’t need to see the glowing digital numbers to know the time. He’d just come off another night shift at The Ashe Sentinel. Usually, when he pulled in at 11:50 p.m., the building was quiet as a crypt.

Pretty much the whole town of Ashe, Kansas, went to sleep at 9 p.m. on weeknights.

Archer pulled the keys from the ignition and headed toward the front entrance. With eyes trained on the mystery truck, he tried to guess which of his neighbors might be trying to give the landlord the slip.

Larry Miller was a dodgy character, but Archer couldn’t see him staying up past 8 p.m., much less midnight. He’d never liked Jake in 1C; he always gave him dirty looks and his hands were constantly covered in grease. None of that was any indication he would move out under cover of darkness, but it seemed like the sort of thing he might do.

He stopped short as he reached the truck. One large door stood open, revealing stacks of cardboard boxes next to a bed frame and mattress leant up against one wall. But Archer’s eyes fixed on the man carefully navigating the sidewalk curb with three boxes stacked so high in his arms he couldn’t possibly see.

Archer was impressed. He’d definitely end up on his ass if he tried that.

As he watched, the mover struggled to balance the boxes and open the door at the same time. Looked like he was moving in, rather than out, as Archer had first assumed. But he was clearly a novice at moving. Everyone knew you had to prop open the door before you started lugging in boxes.

The boxes began to topple, and the door clanged shut.

“Shit!”

His new neighbor made a wild grab, straining to save his stack before it toppled to the ground, and Archer jolted into action.

Stepping forward, he grabbed the door handle. “Need some help?”

“Yeah, thanks,” the guy huffed as he edged inside.

Archer followed, trying to get a better look at him in the dimly lit lobby. Not much of his face was visible. Floppy dark hair hung over his forehead, obscuring his eyes. The curve of what might be a smile (or a grimace?) peeked around the edges of the boxes in his arms.

“You know, I’ve heard of moving out under cover of darkness. Usually not the other way around,” Archer mused.

“Yeah, well, I just moved out of somewhere, right?”

Archer’s neighbor was breathless, his arms straining under the weight of the three boxes. Not enough of a sadist to watch that torture continue, Archer stepped forward and snagged a box from the top.

His arms jerked toward the ground, and he staggered under the weight of the box.

“Holy shit, what’s in here? Weights?”

Archer struggled to get a knee under the box and adjust his grip, and his neighbor laughed.

At least Archer could be certain of his smile this time, even if it was at his expense.

“Books, actually. I would have warned you, if you’d asked.”

“Oh, right. Paperweights,” he joked in an attempt to cover his embarrassment for looking like a weakling.

He stumbled the few steps to the building’s only elevator and leaned against the up button with his elbow. “Maybe it’s time to invest in an e-reader.”

“Not the best investment for a bookstore owner.”

Archer winced at his gaffe. “Good point.”

He ran a gaze over the building’s newest resident: tall, broad shoulders, square jaw. He looked more like an athlete than an academic, but Archer didn’t put much stock in stereotypes. He’d been notched into the “nice guy” category too many times to inflict that kind of thinking on someone else.

Besides, these books were heavy enough to give anyone muscle, he thought as he practically fell into the elevator.

***

2Tyler watched the cute geek straining under the weight of his books and felt a little guilty. The other two boxes he carried were larger but lighter.

Nodding his head toward the buttons on the wall inside the elevator, Tyler eased his load to the floor. “I’m on the third floor.”

Just as he hoped, the cute neighbor followed suit and dropped his box, shaking out his arms in relief. And now that Tyler could see him in a better light, he looked even cuter. With his shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes, he had a bit of the boy-next-door look, but the black frame glasses and skinny jeans added the right amount of hipster to elevate him from average to intriguing. The generous mouth didn’t hurt, either.

Just now that mouth was grinning.

“I’m Archer. I live on the third floor, too. You’re probably taking the empty apartment just down the hall from me.”

Archer thrust out a hand, and Tyler shook it. He couldn’t help but notice that Archer’s fingers were covered in red marker.

“Archer, huh? Nice name. I’m Tyler.”

Sadly, Archer’s touch didn’t linger. One short pump, and he dropped Tyler’s hand. Not gay, then.

What Archer might lack in sexual orientation, he made up for in friendliness as he kept up an enthusiastic stream of chatter on the ride to the second floor.

“I can’t believe you’re moving in at this hour. Are you going to move everything in tonight?”

Tyler shrugged helplessly. “Looks that way.”

“Ouch. That’s got to hurt!”

He’d worked his last shift at Lark’s Hardware before starting his move at nearly 7 p.m. That was bad enough, but when the truck wasn’t available on time due to a late return, he’d been hopelessly behind schedule. Add in a flat tire, a missing spare and a long wait for a tow, and Tyler was staring down a miserable night of moving.

­Yeah, it hurt, but the truck was due back by 8 a.m. if he didn’t want to pay late fees.

“I’ll manage.” Somehow.

“Need some help?”

Tyler didn’t know Archer well enough to burden him, even if he was stressed to the max. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re probably tired.”

“Nah. I work the night shift at the newspaper, so I can sleep in tomorrow.”

Archer wiggled his red-ink-covered fingers, and Tyler noticed a few newsprint smudges, too, now that he looked closer.

“Copy editor. Lots of red marker involved. I noticed you looking before.”

The doors slid open, and Tyler quickly snagged the heavier box, along with one of his lighter ones. Archer glanced at him suspiciously, but didn’t comment as he scooped up the remaining box and followed Tyler out of the elevator.

“And I totally had you pegged as a comic book artist,” Tyler joked as they walked the short distance to his apartment.

“A comic book with only red ink?”

Tyler paused to dig out his keys and unlock the door. “Must have been a very gory storyline. Lots of blood.”

Archer laughed, but as the door swung open, Tyler’s spirits sank. Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

He’d seen the apartment once before, and it seemed to be imitating a postage stamp: tiny and white. A small oval living room with white walls and beige carpeting led into a smaller galley kitchen with white cabinets. The tiny bedroom would barely fit a full-size bed much less the king he used to enjoy, and the miniscule bathroom would not be hosting any man-on-man shower fun unless he hooked up with a seriously skinny twink. He eyed Archer. Nope, not even him.

At least, the apartment was clean. He suspected all the white was meant to emphasize that fact. Sad when your top-selling feature is cleanliness.

Tyler dropped his boxes to the floor and tried not to think about the hardwood floors and vaulted ceilings he’d left behind — not to mention the modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances and master bath with a shower that could accommodate a threesome (not that it ever had).

Archer lingered in the doorway, arms stretched around the wide box.

“Just stick it anywhere,” Tyler suggested.

“That’s what she said,” Archer mumbled under his breath, dropping the box with a thud.

Tyler chuckled. “Maybe that’s what he said. You never know, right?”

Red rushed into Archer’s cheeks, and Tyler worried he might have scared off his new neighbor before he’d even moved in. Luckily, Archer took it in stride, aside from his obvious discomfort. “Guess so.”

On that awkward note, he turned to tell Archer thanks and goodnight, because it really was too much to ask a stranger to spend all night helping him move. He forgot what he intended to say, though, when he found Archer staring at him with a puzzled look on his face.

His new neighbor tilted his head to the side and squinted his eyes.

“What?”

“Dude, are your eyes blue? Or gray? What kind of fucked up color is that?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. He considered them light blue, though they could look gray in certain lighting. He’d heard plenty of comments before, so Archer’s observation was no surprise, though he preferred the “wow, your eyes are so beautiful” variety to the “wow, your eyes are so freaky.”

Then again, he supposed straight guys didn’t go around telling each other their eyes were pretty. Too bad. 

“You’re going to diss my best feature?” he joked. “Well, now you have to help me move all my shit in. My feelings are hurt.”

Chapter 2

Archer ached freaking everywhere, and not the good kind of ache, either.

He’d helped Tyler move all his belongings until a little after 2 a.m. Then, needing to wind down, he spent some quality time with his favorite game invading rival territories. He finally crawled into bed around 4:30 in the morning.

Good thing he had a job that required little more than planting his ass in a chair for 8 hours, with the occasional trip to the printer.

They’d even moved two couches the night before, when in a moment of delirium Tyler had insisted his sofa carried too many bad memories of being in the doghouse with his ex, and Archer had agreed to trade sofas.

A trendy red leather sofa now sat in Archer’s living room, while Tyler was stuck with a stained, threadbare thrift store find patterned with wagon wheels. So, they’d probably be moving sofas again once Tyler was in his right mind.

“Ready for another enthralling night of invigorating copy editing?” Jorge asked from his side.

Archer glared at the night news editor, aka his boss, aka his secret crush.

Make that secret crush with a boyfriend.

“I’d rather go home and sleep.”

“Late night?” Jorge asked with a teasing wink. Before Archer could share that rather than a night of debauchery he’d had a night of furniture weight-lifting, Jorge was distracted by his boyfriend. Who also worked at the newspaper. Yeah, it’s time to crush that crush, Archer.

Mac leaned over Jorge’s shoulder, his mouth close to his ear, and spoke in a low voice. Not low enough for Archer to miss, unfortunately. He did his best not to look at the two as Mac’s voice carried.

“Crop my photo tonight, and there will be consequences.”

Archer’s eyes were irresistibly drawn back to Jorge, whose full lips curved in a sexy smile.

“If I crop your photo, it’ll be to save your ass. And I’ll expect a proper thank-you when I get home.”

“Ooh, feisty. I like it.”

Mac kissed Jorge’s cheek and looked up. The photographer’s eyes met and held Archer’s gaze, and he felt his stomach twist. Mac had to know Archer coveted his boyfriend.

He jerked his gaze back to his computer screen. The words might as well have been gibberish for all the focus he had, but he pretended to be deeply immersed in coverage of the planning committee’s meeting on signage.

Mac patted Archer’s head condescendingly on his way out of the editor’s nook. “He’s all yours, Archie.”

Yeah, he knew. And he obviously didn’t feel threatened in the slightest. Fuck my life. This has to end.

***

Incessant chirping woke Tyler.

His eyes popped open, and he stared at the ceiling blankly as he tried to identify the source of the annoying sound. For a minute, he thought he was lying on that damn red sofa again. His heart sank at the thought he’d had yet another fight with Jen.

Then he turned his head slightly, and the image of a wagon wheel caught his eye. He looked up to see a small flat-screen television on the wall opposite. The TV that used to hang in his and Jen’s guestroom.

His heart fell again as the truth rushed in. He was on Archer’s used sofa, in a tiny box of an apartment instead of the beautiful two-story he restored with his wife.

Soon to be ex-wife.

Tyler’s eyes landed on his cellphone, blinking and chirping, from the kitchen counter.

“Shit,” he muttered, and rubbed a hand over his face. Jen would be expecting him at a meeting with their lawyer. That was probably her now, wanting to know where he was.

He sat up, and groaned as his muscles screamed at him. He’d never moved by himself before. He’d always had friends to help load up — those were in short supply these days — or he’d hired movers. Thank God for Archer, or it’d be even worse.

He hobbled over to his phone and glanced at the notifications.

Shit. Three missed text messages. Two missed calls. One voicemail.

Probably best not to listen to the voicemail. He’d just get another earful when he returned Jen’s call. He noticed the time display on the phone: 5:30 p.m.

He’d already missed their appointment.

Tyler pressed the call button and braced himself for the storm to come. She didn’t bother with “hello.”

“Seriously, Ty? Seriously?”

“I’m sorry. I was up all night and then—”

“Celebrating your freedom already?”

He couldn’t miss the bitter edge to her words. He understood the underlying pain, told himself he deserved it. Because he did.

“Tyler, if you want to be free to cruise guys then we need to figure out this divorce and pronto.”

“C’mon, Jen, give me a break. I was moving furniture all night. The truck was double-booked, and then it was one problem after another.”

He left out the part where he’d lain awake until 5 a.m., suffering from insomnia. She’d just berate him to see a doctor about it. He was pretty sure once he got through this divorce, he’d sleep just fine.

“Oh.”

“I had to return the truck before 8 a.m., then meet a shipment at the bookstore around 10, so I didn’t sleep much until after that. I’m sorry. I thought my alarm was set.”

She sighed. “Sounds awful. I told you to just hire movers.”

He rolled his eyes. This was classic Jen, commiserating and telling you she told you so all in one breath. The woman always had to be right. And it had to be killing her that she wasn’t right about him.

Of course, he’d fooled them both into believing he could be something he wasn’t. That was on him.

“Yeah. So, we’ll reschedule, okay? I’ve got to spend tomorrow at the bookstore. But later this week?”

Another sigh. “Okay. But you can’t miss the next one, Ty. This is important.”

“I know.”

He listened to her breathe for a long moment. He could sense all the unsaid things she was barely holding back.

“Okay. I’ll have the lawyer call with a new time.”

“Thanks, Jen.”

***

1As the night progressed, Archer found himself more troubled by his fixation on his boss. Working with Jorge had been frustrating for weeks now, but tonight Archer was desperate enough he considered dating again.

The question was: How to meet someone?

His break-up with Lisa six weeks ago had destroyed his comfort zone in his usual gaming hangouts. Meeting someone at work also seemed like a bad idea.

Archer peeked over at Jorge, who was practically glowing with happiness as he clicked through a news story. Jorge was happy with his workplace romance now, but what happened if he broke up with Mac? Would the newsroom be a warzone between the two once again? Archer shuddered to think of those antagonistic weeks that Jorge and Mac had been at odds.

No, if he was going to meet someone, it couldn’t be in any of his usual social circles, and that included the newsroom. What was the saying, “Don’t shit where you eat”? Pretty appropriate, considering he kept getting dumped too close to home  …  when he could even get a date in the first place.

As Archer considered ways he might meet someone new, he remembered hearing about an app people used to hook up just for sex. He didn’t kid himself. No way could he move from texting to sexing within the same night, much less hour. But dating … maybe.

During a few minutes of downtime, he pulled up an Internet search of more traditional dating websites. Something that included drinks and dinner, that he could do.

He clicked one of the links to a site called “DateCatcher.” He had to choose the nearest metro area; Ashe was too small to have its own service. But no doubt there’d be some Ashe users.

“What’cha doin’ there, Archer?” Jorge asked from over his shoulder.

He jumped and fumbled for his mouse, hoping to close the window before Jorge got a better look.

“Nothing!”

Jorge closed his fingers over Archer’s wrist, staying his hand. “Not so fast.”

He leaned over Archer’s shoulder for a closer look at the screen. “This is a dating site? Are you a member?”

Archer braced himself for ridicule. “No! I was researching.”

Jorge looked skeptical.

“We weren’t busy or anything,” he added defensively.

Brandy came over to glance at the screen, and Archer wanted the ground to swallow him. Why did everyone in the newsroom have to be so damn nosy? Outside of the obvious, of course. Their managing editor firmly believed eavesdropping was a job qualification.

“A friend of mine does the dating sites,” Brandy said. “She says it’s a good way to meet someone outside of work.”

“She uses more than one?” Jorge straightened and turned toward Brandy.

Archer exhaled a long breath, and his wrist tingled with the phantom imprint of Jorge’s fingers. He wondered what it would take to convince his body it didn’t want his boss.

“Oh yeah,” Brandy continued. “Only way to get a good enough number of dates, she said. You have to throw a lot of fish back if you know what I mean.” She looked at Archer. “You should do it. It’s about time you got over Lisa.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. He wasn’t mourning Lisa as any great loss, but it was probably better if people thought he was moping over her rather than his boss.

He’d originally met Lisa through gaming, and they’d never been the right fit. She was a full-time gamer, with a social media channel she was trying to build up dedicated to gaming videos and tips. Archer was only into it casually, and now that they’d broken up, he felt like he had to avoid all their usual gaming circles. He didn’t miss the games that much, but he missed the social outlet.

“I was just curious,” he mumbled.

“Archer, you have to to do it!” Jorge said, and Archer recognized the zealous gleam in his night editor’s eye. “It would make a great story. You can go on a series of dates and write an article about what kind of matching services are available to Ashe singles. You know, answer the questions everyone has.”

“Like what?”

Jorge waved a hand. “You know, is the matching any good? Are the dates funny or horrifying? Is it a valid way to meet someone for a serious relationship, or is it best used for hookups—”

“Whoa, I am not hooking up with strangers for the paper!”

Jorge brushed off his concerns. “Of course not, but it’ll be pretty obvious whether the dates are serious about building a relationship or if they’re just looking for sex.”

Archer felt his face heating. He couldn’t imagine anyone would try to hit him up for sex alone. He wasn’t exactly the one-night-stand kind of guy. He was the best friend turns into mediocre boyfriend kind of guy.

“I’m not a writer.”

Jorge scoffed. “We’re all writers, Archer. Don’t validate those ridiculous stereotypes reporters have. Show them what you’re working with.”

He threw in a sassy wink.

Archer couldn’t believe he’d ever thought Jorge was straight. Of course, Jorge wasn’t so flirty and fun when Archer met him. Back then he was all business as he tried to prove himself to a new staff.

Archer huffed out a heavy breath, as Brandy joined Jorge in pressuring him to do a dating site story.

He’d wanted to break out of his comfort zone and distract himself from his attraction to Jorge. This would certainly do it.

“Okay, fine! Just shut up already.”

Jorge beamed, and Brandy clapped her hands excitedly.

“But, wait. What about …” he trailed off uncertainly.

Archer hesitated to finish his question. He hadn’t made his dating preferences known to most of the news staff. But if he was going to do this dating series, he wanted the benefit of potentially meeting someone special. And he didn’t want to cut his dating pool in half to appease management.

“What?”

Archer dropped his voice. “Do you think it’ll fly if I date both girls and guys?”

Brandy’s eyes rounded, and her hand flew up to cover her gaping mouth. “You’re bi?” she whispered, as if she were speaking a taboo word. Archer didn’t bother answering.

Jorge, on the other hand, didn’t look surprised. Archer hoped that was because he was more open-minded, and not because he’d noticed Archer’s crush.

“Not to cash in on your dating preferences, but it’ll give the series a different spin. I can sell them on that. As long as you don’t mind people knowing?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not hiding it or anything.”

“Awesome! I think we’ve got the proofing covered then. Go ahead and set up your profiles, and I’ll let Laura know what we’re planning. This is going to be great!”

This was going to be awful.

“Source of Protection” preview

My second book in the Ashe Sentinel Connections series releases Aug. 29. In honor of the new release, I thought I’d offer a preview of “Source of Protection,” Rick and Will’s story. You can find the book on Smashwords, Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble,  and various other e-book retailer sites. 

 

SOURCE OF PROTECTION fnal coverWILL McCALL STARED AT THE BODY ON THE GROUND, so still, while the rest of the world spun like a Tilt-a-Whirl at the county carnival.

Not just a body. His boss. Michael Jameson.

Jameson, like the liquor. Which was fitting, because he was the owner of a liquor store that stocked plenty of Jameson whiskey. Also sad because his body was laid out flat in the alley right behind that store.

Will moaned. Just now, he felt as if he’d drunk one too many shots of whiskey. His stomach twisted, and he clenched his teeth against the urge to heave up his breakfast, thinking that it would add insult to injury to hurl all over Michael.

Even if he could be an asshole sometimes.

A dead asshole now.

Will’s limbs trembled, and he realized belatedly he was leaning over Michael’s body, a quiver from collapsing right on top of him. He didn’t hear the back exit of the store open, didn’t notice the footsteps behind him.

He didn’t register another presence at all until he heard the deep voice behind him.

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

Will looked over his shoulder, and his heart lurched. The barrel of a gun stared him in the face.

 

“Don’t kill me,” he pleaded.

A man loomed over him, his feet spread wide and arms extended in a stance that said he was ready to fire at will. His position only made his shoulders look broader under his leather jacket. He could break Will in half, and that was without bullets.

“I didn’t see anything!”

Will lifted his hands so quickly he lost his balance and sprawled back on his butt in the muddy alley. Liquid seeped through the denim of his jeans, but he hardly felt it. He couldn’t take his eyes off the gun. Not even to look into the eyes of the man who might very well kill him.

“No one else has to get hurt,” the gunman stated calmly. “Just tell me the truth. Do you have any weapons on you?”

Will shook his head mutely. He was confused. The world had stopped making any kind of sense when he found Michael.

Oh God, he’s dead? Why is he dead?

The gunman stepped closer, and Will’s panic amped up a notch. The man crouched down and tried to look him in the eye. Will’s gaze kept drifting back to the gun, convinced if he let it out of his sight it would suddenly fire a deadly bullet into him. He could feel his forehead burning, as if a target had been branded there.

“Did you kill this man?”

What an odd question for the killer to ask. Why would he ask that? Will blinked, trying to bring order to his world. Maybe this man was looking to make Will the scapegoat?

Will started to speak, but couldn’t find his voice. What was the right answer? Should he answer honestly? Or would that earn him a bullet between the eyes? Was this one of those trick questions where the killer let you go if you got it right? He’d heard of stories like that.

The more he thought about it, the more panicky he felt. He gasped for air, but couldn’t seem to catch his breath. A loud buzzing took up residence in his head, the staticky sound muffling the curse the gunman let out.

“Oh Christ!” he heard, just as the edges of his vision crumpled inward and his eyes rolled back in his head.

***

Sgt. Rick Wilson cursed, and grabbed for the perp one-armed, while keeping his service revolver well out of reach with the other.

Perp, yeah right.

He’d seen nothing but fear and confusion in the man’s green eyes. Sure, it could have been fear at getting caught. But Rick didn’t think so.

He stared down in concern. He’d caught a real beauty this time. Strawberry blond curls and creamy white skin, probably paler than usual today.

Rick had a knack for scaring the bejesus out of gorgeous men. It was part and parcel of working with the police department, he supposed. Especially when the only eligible men he met were at crime scenes. Ashe, Kansas, was a small town. There were no convenient gay bars or cruising strips to pick up guys.

The last man he’d felt drawn to had been pale and trembling too, after a close call with a bullet while reporting on a stand-off for The Ashe Sentinel.

Jorge Ortiz had a beautiful caramel complexion and dark, intense eyes — quite a contrast to his perp today. Unfortunately, Jorge’s co-worker Mac had moved fast to snap him up. Mac was a looker himself, Rick’s first love in fact. He couldn’t begrudge his ex his good fortune with Jorge, not after Rick had walked away from Mac in his early days on the force when he was determined to stay in the closet for the sake of his career.

He’d since learned there were far worse things than being the gay officer in the department. Hell, being gay is half the reason he was selected as the police spokesman, of all the ironies. No one said so, but Rick knew the department heads thought promoting a gay man to a high-profile position would give them a better reputation for tolerance.

Rick holstered his weapon, and pulled out his cell to call in an update to the department. They’d need to process the scene as a homicide instead of the crime in progress he’d reported before stepping out into the alley.

That done, he set about doing a quick frisk of the man in his arms. He felt around his ankles, and slid hands quickly up each leg. So far so good, he thought, as he moved his hands to check pockets. Nothing but a pack of gum and a wallet. He flipped it open one-handed, but there was no driver’s license in the display window.

That was a little suspicious. Who didn’t have a license these days?

He shoved the wallet back in the man’s back pocket, and resumed his frisk. The man’s snug T-shirt couldn’t possibly hide a weapon, but some idiots thought it was a good idea to stash weapons in their waistband. It was a miracle more perps didn’t blow off their dicks. Or maybe it was a pity.

Rick smiled grimly at the thought, and slipped his fingertips under the man’s waistband, sliding his hand quickly around the front, then the back. He kept his touch brief and impersonal, though the softness of the skin beneath his fingers didn’t escape his notice.

Just another perp, Rick. No need to get pervy about it.

A siren bleated from down the alley, and to his relief sleeping beauty stirred. Dazed green eyes blinked up at him, and the body collapsed half in his lap tensed.

“Shhh, you’re okay,” he said as gently as if he were speaking to a skittish colt. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Sgt. Wilson with the police department, and the officers pulling up now are going to have questions for you. Understand?”

The guy’s gaze jerked toward the police car rolling to a stop a few feet from where they half-reclined against the brick wall of the liquor store. He tried to pull away from Rick.

“Easy,” Rick said, tightening his hold on the suspect. “No sudden movements. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

Wide eyes still fogged with shock swung back to his face. A pink tongue darted out to moisten dry lips.

“Will McCall. I work here.”

Rick thought he’d recognized him as one of the store’s clerks.

“Will, that’s a good name. Suits you. Do you know the man on the ground?” Rick asked, letting Will pull away gradually now that he wasn’t likely to bolt and get himself shot.

“Michael Jameson. He owns the store.”

He glanced over at the two uniformed officers headed their way. “Owned the store,” Will corrected himself in a whisper.

Being off-duty, Rick was dressed casually­­­­­­­ in jeans and T-shirt, with a leather jacket thrown over top. No wo­­­nder Will hadn’t realized he was an officer and panicked. He should have announced himself as police immediately.

Rick dealt with the press more than criminals, or even scared witnesses, these days. He was good at his job as the spokesman for the department, but he’d never felt less like police than when he’d drawn on a civilian.

“I didn’t do anything,” Will added. “I just found him, I swear.”

“Don’t worry, Will. We’ll figure it all out. The officers will have to question you.”

“But—”

“You’re covered in blood, Will,” Rick said gently.

Will looked down, and there was no missing the horror in his expression.

“Oh God, I thought that was mud,” he moaned, his face starting to lose color again. “Oh Jesus.”

Rick pulled Will to his feet and propped him against the brick wall. “Deep breaths, Will. You’re alright.”

Officers Jones and Tibbitts strolled up.

“What have we got here, Sergeant?” Jones asked politely. His blue eyes fixed on Will speculatively.

Tibbitts headed straight to the body, crouching next to it and feeling for a pulse.

“Definitely dead. I’ll call it in,” he said over his shoulder, before depressing the button on his radio to report the DB.

“Already updated the station,” Rick told him. “Homicide should be on scene shortly.”

Rick could feel Will shrinking back from the sight of the body, trembling as shock took hold. Rick would have liked to comfort him, but he didn’t. Guilty or not, Will was a suspect.

“This is Will McCall,” Rick said. “He was on scene when I arrived. He says the dead man is Michael Jameson, his boss. As you can see, he’s got blood evidence on his clothing and was in close proximity to the victim. I’m sure homicide will want to question him.”

***

Will listened to the sergeant  spell out exactly how guilty he looked, kneeling over his dead boss in an alley.

God, would he go to jail? It’s not like he could come up with an alibi. The man saw him leaning over a dead body! Wasn’t that the very definition of caught red-handed?

It was just his luck, too.

Will had barely escaped his abusive ex-boyfriend. He moved halfway across the country to start over, and enrolled at the local community college to finish an education he’d given up on years ago.

And now this.

“I’m not a killer,” he interrupted desperately. “I swear!”

“Sir, calm down,” Officer Jones said firmly. “No one’s under arrest. But I do need to ask, sir, do you have any weapons on you?”

Will shook his head. Jones glanced at the sergeant. “Did you frisk him?”

“Not completely. I checked for weapons as best I could when he fainted.”

Will grimaced at that. God, no wonder Michael always called him a pansy.

Used to call him … he wouldn’t be hurling any good-natured insults anymore.

Grief welled up, and Will had to force back the tears that burned behind his eyes. Michael might have been an asshole, but he’d also been Will’s only friend in this town. And he definitely didn’t deserve this.

“Didn’t find anything,” Rick continued as Will bit down on his lip hard to suppress the sob rising in his throat. “You should check, though.”

“Will, please turn around and place your hands on the wall,” Officer Jones ordered.

Will turned pleading eyes on the sergeant. His jaw was clenched, and he wouldn’t meet Will’s eyes. Shit. He thought Will was guilty, too.

He turned, slapping his palms against the brick exterior of the liquor store.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated. “I didn’t … I would never—”

His voice broke, and he couldn’t continue. His breathing sounded too loud again. Don’t faint, don’t faint, not again.

The officer’s hands roughly smoothed down his sides, and patted at his pockets. The man paused to pull out Will’s wallet, handing it to the other officer to inspect, then continued his task. Hands ran up the inside of his legs and down around his ankles. He barely felt the touch, too numbed by the shock of this new reality.

He heard the sergeant’s voice as if from a distance.

“Will, no one is accusing you of anything. You’ll have your chance to tell the homicide detective everything soon enough.”

“No weapons,” the younger officer confirmed. “You can turn around.”

Will turned, to see another police cruiser pulling up, along with an unmarked police car. A man in a badly wrinkled suit stepped out and scratched at stubble on his jaw. He looked as if he’d just woken up, or perhaps been up all night. What time was it anyway? He’d arrived at the store around 10:30 … so 11? 11:30?

Hell of a day, Will, when you can’t even make it until lunchtime without fucking up.

Will flinched as his ex-boyfriend’s voice ghosted through his mind.

The sergeant who’d found him strolled over to the rumpled man, probably the detective. He stared after him, feeling like his safety blanket had been taken away.

It didn’t make any sense; he’d been terrified the man was going to shoot him. Now, he wanted him to come back and protect him from the officers, from the inevitable questioning and arrest, from his own memories.

“Will, we’re going to need you to take a seat in the back of the police car,” Officer Tibbitts announced. He grabbed Will’s arm and started pushing him not-so-subtly toward the car.

“Oh, but—”

“Detective Nielsen will have questions for you. Most likely, we’ll need to take you downtown. Your clothes will need to be processed.”

“My clothes,” Will repeated blankly.

Officer Jones nodded. “Evidence,” he explained, as his partner put a hand on Will’s head and shoved him into the backseat.

They didn’t cuff him. Small favors and all that. The doors had no handles, though, so once he was in, he was stuck there.

Evidence. Will thought of all the crime shows he’d watched on TV. The cops were always searching for forensic evidence to place the killer at the scene. Blood on his clothes. A hair. A fingerprint.

They had all that on Will already, didn’t they? How would he possibly prove he didn’t kill Michael Jameson, especially when he’d yelled at Michael just two days ago, threatened to kill him if he betrayed Will’s trust again?

Motive, opportunity, presence at the crime scene. He was as good as convicted already.

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