Mutual Possession (Nine Tenths of the Law #1)

2. Spencer

Chapter two

Spencer

The house Hunter sent us to is a plain brick-and-black plaster condo-style building. Comfortable enough for a couple or a small family. Sparse front yard, with no flower beds or shrubbery for easy maintenance. A light-blue middle-range car sat in the driveway.

I’m curious to know what we’re doing here. Home visits aren’t generally our style.

“What do you think?” I ask Kendrick, giving him a sideways glance from where I’m leaning against the passenger door. He looks so put together for this time of the morning, it makes my fingers itch to touch him and muss him up a bit. The sleek black suit, perfectly pressed, with the middle button of his jacket done up, looks fantastic, but he looks better when I’ve had my hands all over him. Despite the warmth of the car, the tip of his nose still has a tinge of red to it from the cold. He put the gloves back on before he got out and has one shoved in his pocket. And those curls. I want to roll in their softness, get tangled in them so that he can’t get away from me.

“I think speculation is pointless,” Kendrick replies. “Hunter’s inside; we can ask him directly.” He pauses.

“What are you looking at?” Kendrick asks, narrowing his eyes.

“You.”

Anger still simmers under the surface, and the urge to find the “kid” that Kendrick keeps spending time with hasn’t disappeared. Not for months. I should feel nothing but gratitude for what he did to keep Kendrick safe, and maybe that’s there. But if Henry thinks that means he has a right to any piece of him, he’s dead fucking wrong.

I won’t give any of it up, for anything. I don’t care how selfish that makes me. Henry can set his sights on someone else. Anyone else.

Kendrick’s lips twitch, and he gestures for me to start walking. My hand automatically rests on his lower back, the second I fall into step beside him. More of the anger settles when he relaxes into it. Kendrick doesn’t let anyone else touch him. Not even Henry .

The front door is already unlocked, so we head in. Hunter’s in the living area, along with two other men: Riley Sinclair, a homicide detective and Henry’s boss—I’m being haunted by that man today, it seems—as well as one of his detectives, Quinn Hughes, who happens to be one of Sebastian’s four boyfriends.

I share a glance with Kendrick, lingering on his hazel green. Looks like we’re both being haunted.

“Throwing a party in here?” I ask lightly, staying close to Kendrick. “Should have said something, I would have brought cake.” The words remind me that the warm cinnamon donuts I’d bought for us are going cold in the car. Probably already are. Motherfucker. They’re so much better warm.

And the coffee. Double motherfucker.

“I’m afraid you missed the party,” Hunter says.

“What’s going on, boss?” Kendrick asks. “If we’re on babysitting duty again, I quit.”

Quinn stifles a laugh by coughing and resting a fist against his lips. Subtle. It’s not as though it isn’t his fault we were on that duty to begin with. Jericho—Hunter’s brother, a teammate of ours and one of the men in that five-way relationship—has terrible fucking taste in men.

“Since the victim is already dead, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Hunter replies dryly.

That explains what the two detectives are doing here, but not us . “And we’re needed because…?” We don’t do regular cop work, and this sounds like it falls squarely in their jurisdiction.

“They want this one kept quiet, and for us to clean up the mess.”

Messes are our speciality. “Alright.” No need to ask who “we” is. Hunter’s bosses are well above my pay grade, and I’d rather not be involved. “Is this investigative, or do we have a target?” There are a lot of ways to clean up a mess. I like some of them more than others.

“Did you hear of the murder last year with Leah Anderson?”

“Who didn’t? It was all over the news.” And then some. The woman was a star on some soap opera drama TV show filmed locally in Sydney, and she was found dead, drowned in her bathtub, about a year and a half ago. Some creepy stalker scenario. They caught the guy within a few weeks of the murder, and as far as I know, he’s rotting in jail now, with no chance of seeing the outside for a long time. The show used it, incorporating the murder into a plot line, and the controversy over it meant hearing about it for way too long. I doubt there’s an Australian alive that doesn’t know about it in some capacity.

“Come with me,” Hunter says, gesturing with his head.

This time Kendrick follows behind me, his hand slipping under my sweater to rest on my back, with his thumb hooked in the belt loop of my jeans. It sears into me, and all I want to do is turn around and step into his arms. Rip off his jacket and shirt so I can feel the warmth of his chest.

Hunter takes us into a small bathroom. The standing bath is full, and candles are everywhere. Over the sink, lining the bath, on the floor, either side of the bathmat, like they’re directing traffic straight to the main event. Each wick is black from use, and the smell of burning wax lingers in the air. Not just for decoration, then. A chill runs up my spine, and Kendrick’s hand fists against my back. Oh, fuck no.

“Are you serious?” I ask, turning to face Hunter. “Isn’t he in jail?”

Hunter rests a hand on the back of his neck, lifting the side of his suit jacket. “He’s still sitting pretty in his cell. Riley checked for us after he got the call.”

Some kind of copycat killer, then. Fantastic. Killers are fucked up at the best of times, but a copycat? I have a visceral hate for them. If you’re gonna do something, at least try to be original about it. “Who’s the victim?”

“Her name is Veronica Ferguson. She’s a part-time actress, with a small, ongoing part on the same TV show as Anderson. She also works part-time at a real estate agency.”

“How convenient.” If it’s a copycat, pulling a victim from the same pool as the last is ballsy as fuck. “Why do they want it kept quiet?” I can hazard a guess, but I want to hear it.

Quinn is the one who answers, from behind us. “Because if they got the wrong guy, and the real killer is still out there, they don’t want to show the world their ass. Not until we know. Apparently, this is what you do?”

“It varies too much for me to be able to answer that with complete accuracy,” I say with a lopsided grin. Wouldn’t answer even if I could. Quinn might be privy to our world because he’s dating Jericho, but it doesn’t mean that we have to show all our cards. Especially not me. I don’t have a horse in his race.

“So what are we doing?” Kendrick asks, his thumb making circles on my back. “Figuring out if the killer is still out there or…?”

“There was enough information out there from the first one that we can’t rule out someone copying him,” Hunter says. “Some fan of his work, maybe.”

“What was the case like?” Fuck, that feels good. I want Kendrick to lift his hand higher, all the way up to my neck. Cover my back and envelop me. It’s hard to concentrate on what I’m saying when he’s this close. “Do any of you know?”

Riley shakes his head. “We had nothing to do with it. Whether it’s ironclad or flimsy isn’t something we’re aware of. It’s your job to work that out.” He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, his own suit pulling tight over his chest. Everyone is way too formally dressed for this kind of espionage. “You have an hour to look over the house before we get someone in here to clean up the candles and any other evidence of foul play.”

“What are they saying killed her?” Kendrick asks, surveying the room. “If they’re keeping it quiet, that means they’re not crying murder.”

“Mixed drinking wine with sleeping pills, fell asleep in the bath,” Hunter said. “The real cause of death doesn’t need to come out. We need to know if the man sitting in jail really killed Anderson, or if we have a second killer on our hands.”

“If it’s a second killer?”

“We’ll decide then,” Hunter says with a shrug. “It can’t go to trial, not after covering up the truth.”

Which means that if it’s someone else, we put them six feet under and erase the fact they ever existed. My favourite thing to do to the scum of the world and one of my top three ways to clean up a mess.

“I don’t agree with that,” Quinn says flatly, lips pursed. “That’s not how justice works.”

“It’s how our justice works.” Justice isn’t always pretty, and it can’t always be wrapped up all nice and neat with a bow. Sometimes the result is the only thing that matters, not how we get there. “If you don’t like it, you’re dating the wrong person. If we only have an hour, let us get to work. Your job here is officially over.” A tap on Kendrick’s hip gets him moving, and he swiftly leaves the bathroom, skirting around everyone without so much as grazing them.

We methodically go over every inch of the house, searching for anything that looks out of place, anything the killer may have left behind. Riley doesn’t say a word when we go over the allotted hour. His impassive stare doesn’t change when I tap my watch and wink at him. I wonder what it would take to wipe that look off his face. Someone extraordinary. I’d send them a gift basket.

“Do you think she keeps her house this clean normally?” Kendrick asks, standing to his full height. He’s a fraction taller than me, only noticeable if we stand back-to-back. His curls give him the advantage because they’re springy.

“My guess is he wiped it clean,” Riley answers from where he’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. “Tech swept over the place, but we won’t find anything.”

“How many people have been in this house?” I ask, sharing a look with Kendrick. If they want to keep it quiet, we need to know who to keep quiet.

“Short of being clairvoyant and being here before the murder occurred, having witnesses is unavoidable. The woman who found her is a next-door neighbour. The two officers who responded to the call aren’t from my station, but I’ve put a call in. Then there were three technicians; one was Tianna Allery, so you’re in luck.” Only because she’s in Hunter’s back pocket too. “The body was taken by Maverick.”

My brother in all but blood, Maverick Burke owns a funeral home—family business, in fact. He helps us clean up the messes we leave behind when we go hunting. “The officers and the woman?” If they want this kept quiet, mouths need to stay shut. I doubt bribing them with sweets will work, though I’d be happy to give it a try. Buy some Skittles for myself while I’m shopping.

“NDAs,” Riley explains. “We’ve done as much damage control as we can. As far the world is concerned, this never happened. When Six lifts the files from our database, make sure to get the neighbour’s details. She knows to expect you already. You’re not to speak to the victim’s coworkers—either from the show’s set or her day job—or her family and friends.”

“Yeah, we know the drill.” Does Riley think he needs to tell us how to do our job? I’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than him. And the word “secret” surely implies that we aren’t about to go and run around asking questions like amateurs and get people suspicious. There are other ways to get information. Kendrick and I are much better in the shadows than we are in the spotlight.

“There’s nothing to find here,” Kendrick says, mouth twisted in a scowl. I want to lick it. “If there was a scuffle, he’s cleaned it up. If he broke in, he’s fixed it. It implies he was here for a while before he left.”

“Left the door unlocked?” I suggest.

“If she did, she’s an idiot. If she didn’t, then it means she opened the door to him willingly.”

“Or he’s a really good lockpick.” Six and I can get into places we shouldn’t be in without so much as scratching the paint on whichever entrance we choose. Not everyone who knows how to skulk is there for the right reasons. Hell, half the time we aren’t there for the right reasons.

“Too many variables.”

“There’s nothing more to see here. If there’s anything else found that we need to know, call us.”

Riley inclines his head without responding. He doesn’t follow us outside.

Hunter and Quinn are waiting outside, talking quietly beside where all our cars are lined up. They’re hidden in the shadows, looking more like they’re having a clandestine affair than here for nefarious reasons.

“Is this orgy invitation only?” I ask, joining them. Kendrick steps up behind me, his chest brushing against my back. It’s what I’ve been waiting for this entire time. For him to get this close.

“Invitation,” Hunter replies. “And we’re full up.”

“I’m wounded.” Fishing my keys out of my pocket, I drop them in Kendrick’s palm. “There’s nothing here. We’ll get the files from Six tomorrow and then go from there.” The killer is either too fucking smart for their own good, or they were lucky. Or a combination of both, which is the worst-case scenario. And I always bank on it being worst-case scenario.

“Alright. Keep me posted?”

“You got it, boss. Nice to see you again, Quinn.”

I’ve barely closed the passenger door before Kendrick is jerking the car onto the road. I haven’t even got my seat belt on yet. There’s only room for one NASCAR driver in this relationship, and it’s me.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

He’s a terrible liar. “Did you know her?” Something’s got him riled up.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“There was no blood.”

Okay? “Chances are he drowned her in the bath, like the first victim.” Until we see the pictures of the body, it’s hard to speculate on cause of death, or the specifics on how it was done. “No blood doesn’t mean she didn’t struggle.” It just means she didn’t have a chance at fighting back, whether because he was smart enough to catch her by surprise—based on the location of the bath and the door, she would have had to have her eyes closed for him to do that—or he was simply bigger and stronger than her. Of course, the killer could be female. More useless speculation without facts.

“Or she knew him,” Kendrick points out. “The water over the edge of the bath could mean a struggle, or it could mean they were having sex.”

“I guess.” Where is he going with this? “Why do you think they could have been having sex?”

“Like I said, having sex in a bath causes water to go over the edge.”

He says it in such a matter-of-fact way that my hackles rise. “You know that from experience?”

Kendrick glances at me. “When you move in water, you displace it. Both a struggle and sex will cause that. I don’t need experience to make that deduction.”

That doesn’t give me an answer, though. Not really. Knowing and knowing are two entirely different things. I hate the idea that anyone ever thought they had a right to touch him, even before I met him. They should have known that he’s off limits. That he’s belonged to me his entire life. That if I find out who they are, their life is forfeit.

“And which of those two scenarios bothers you more?” I ask, instead of what I really want to. It itches at me, like bugs under my skin. Has he had sex in a bath? I have to know.

“She could have trusted him. Could have opened her door with arms wide open. And he killed her for it.”

Ah. Trust. A word Kendrick rarely uses, one I’m proud to be the owner of. It bothers him that someone she trusted could have done that to her. It isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with a case like this, and it won’t be the last. “We’ll find him,” I promise. For Kendrick if nothing else.

We always find them. The monsters can’t hide from us.

We’re monsters too.