Mutual Possession (Nine Tenths of the Law #1)

18. Kendrick

Chapter eighteen

Kendrick

It takes me a second to orient myself and work out why I’m suddenly awake. Spencer looms over me, a hand braced on my side, trapping me in between his arms. I jerk in surprise.

“Jesus, Spence, what the fuck?” What time is it? A quick roll of my head says way too fucking early. Barely one in the morning. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says simply.

I’m not awake enough for any of this. I make a futile effort to blink the sleep out of my eyes. “What question?” I ask groggily. “Can’t this wait till morning?”

“It is morning.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, comprehension still a struggle. “More morning than this.”

“You didn’t say yes.”

“Did you ask me a question?” He could have sung “The Bare Necessities,” complete with dance choreography, naked, and I honestly might not remember.

“Last night I did. I think you’ve had enough time for your brain to move back into your head.”

What? Oh. The proposal if that’s what we can call it. “C’mon, Spence, you can’t be serious.” I get being a little emotional in the heat of the moment. What we did in the shower was big. A step we’ve never taken before. If he needs to talk about that , then I’m here for him even if it’s at stupid o’clock in the morning. But marriage? That’s not early-a.m. conversation. It’s not any-a.m. conversation. Or even p.m. Why are we talking about it at all?

“You’re starting to hurt my feelings.” The hint of hurt in his tone adds to his words, and my gut twists. Fucking hell. Okay, there’s no getting back to sleep; he’s clearly too keyed up.

I push myself up into a sitting position and cup his cheek. “You really want to get married?”

With no hesitation he says, “Yes.” His eyes are clear, determination in the big brown irises. How long has he been awake, thinking about this? I hope he didn’t get up and have any coffee.

Marriage isn’t a step I ever thought we’d take. Not a step I ever thought I’d take. He’s never mentioned wanting to before. “Alright.” If it makes him happy, then I’ll do pretty much anything. Walking down the aisle with him won’t be a hardship.

“Alright?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Before he can respond to that, his phone rings on the bedside table. He swipes it up without looking away from me. “Hunter; Ken and I are getting married.”

I snort at his ridiculousness. He’s probably going to use it as his voicemail message. Outgoing email.

“Congratulations,” Hunter says without skipping a beat. “Don’t forget to send me an invite.”

“Is this a social call?” I ask dryly. Not at this hour, it isn’t.

“Irene Abrams was murdered in her home late last night.”

I share a look with Spencer. That wasn’t on my list of possible scenarios. She was a suspect , not a victim. “Same method?” I ask, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and glancing around for my pants.

Are we looking at some kind of serial killer? An older woman doesn’t fit the pattern, but sometimes their tastes change. Or they switch course for a reason, none of them ever good. Throw people off their scent, emotions running high, they’re getting angry and sloppy. It makes them unpredictable, and I don’t like unpredictability.

“No.”

Shit. That doesn’t fit the pattern either. “You want us to go there?”

“Yes. This is an official murder investigation this time, and we can’t do anything about that. Greer and Six are there; the same officers who were there for Veronica were called to this one, and they called Riley.”

“Henry not with Greer? If it’s official, won’t he need his partner there?” Is that how it works? I’m too tired for my neurons to be firing properly.

Spencer frowns at me, and I lean forward, kissing his temple. Whatever he’s thinking, it’s wrong.

“That’s between Riley and Greer. Riley prefers if I stay out of how he deals with his detectives.”

“Until you don’t.”

“Until I don’t. For now, Greer is there with Six, and where the chips fall after that is none of my business. Just get this case closed, alright? It’s making me twitchy.”

He’s not the only one. “We’re on our way.”

FIVE MINUTES INTO THE ride, and Spencer starts tapping his fingers on the door handle. Knee bouncing. Agitated. And suspiciously quiet.

“What?” I ask.

“What, what?”

“Something’s wrong.” Does he think I can’t tell? “You thinking about the case?”

Spencer winds down his window and rests his elbow on it, gripping the top of the frame. “No.”

It’s way too early to play twenty questions. Especially since most of me is still half asleep, even after the coffee he made me before we left. “If you’re changing your mind about—”

“Fuck off.”

Eloquently put. Guess he’s as tired as I am. “So if it’s not about the case, and it’s not about the marriage, then what—”

“What do you talk about?”

Christ. I rub my forehead and turn to look at him when I stop at a set of red lights. “Spencer, baby, please let’s not do this. I don’t understand what you’re asking me. Spell it out for me, like I’m drunk.”

“You need another coffee.”

“I need about seven.”

“When you’re with Henry, what do you talk about?”

That at least makes a little more sense. “At first it was about our injuries. He stupidly felt responsible for me getting hurt even though that’s not at all how it went down. And now it’s just random things, I guess. He’s been in Sydney a few years now, but he’s still a country boy, trying to figure himself out.” Considering his job, and how good he is at it, I’m always surprised by how shy and unsure Henry is about himself.

Spencer doesn’t respond, strangely quiet. Reticent.

I don’t like it. “Spence?” I glance across to him. He’s staring out the window, lips downturned. Focused on something other than me.

“I see it every night when I go to sleep. The car moving, you getting crushed. Every time I try to get to you, I’m not fast enough. Not close enough. We’re supposed to be better than that. Jericho trusted us with Sebastian, I trusted myself with you . And I failed.”

Christ. Make that about twenty coffees that I need. Barely two in the morning is so early for this. Apparently, we’re doing it now anyway.

Finding the nearest parking spot, I pull over and unclip my seat belt before doing the same to his. Sliding my seat as far back as it goes, I grasp his hips and coax him up and onto my lap. Still a bit of a tight fit, but it just means he’s snug in my arms.

“No one failed anything. The entire situation was out of our control. They were smart about it, catching us unaware and from too many angles. Sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to, or even how they should go, no matter how much training or expertise we have.” I trace his lips with my fingers and then brush my knuckles across his cheeks and up into his bright-blond hair. “We can only do what we can do in any given situation, and our reactions aren’t always the way we wish they were. Sebastian was the priority, and you did what you had to do: you saved him, simply by not letting him be alone.” His eyes flutter shut when I massage his scalp. “You stayed alive and waited for me. That’s what I needed, and you did it for me.”

The second my lips touch his, he whimpers and presses even closer, like he’s trying to crawl inside me. I’d let him if I could. I’d carve myself open for him. Whatever makes him feel more secure and loved. Cherished and taken care of.

He buries his hands in my hair and takes over the kiss, licking into me like a man starving, like he’s searching for something. I stay pliant under him, holding him tight and letting him take what he needs. I’ll stay here as long as he needs, no matter what’s waiting for us.

We’re both panting heavily by the time he pulls away. I’m rock hard; I can feel that he isn’t. This is comfort for him, a way for him to remind himself of his place in my life. I’m happy to remind him as often as he needs, with words or touch. Whatever he needs.

Spencer slides his hands down my chest, lips pursed contemplatively. “I spoke to Hunter about it.”

I hope he isn’t expecting me to follow that without context. “About what?”

“How scared for you I was. Am . I can’t pretend that it’s not still affecting me. It eats me up inside, Ken. Maybe realistically, I couldn’t have done more. That doesn’t change that I feel like I should have. It doesn’t take away the guilt.”

“Spence…”

“Anyway, he gave me a number for a therapist that he uses. I’m going to call them, make an appointment.”

That’s not where I saw this conversation going. “It’s not a terrible idea.” For both of us, in fact. I can’t lie and say it isn’t affecting me every day either. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Maybe for the first one?” He settles more comfortably in my arms. “Do you have feelings for Henry?”

“Jesus, Spencer.” This conversation’s giving me major whiplash. I thought we moved on from the Henry conversation. He’s certainly got a bee in his bonnet about the detective. “Yes, I do. Because he’s a friend.” There are few people in the world that I can put up with, even fewer that I have patience for. The kid isn’t so bad. He’s sharp, witty, and completely out of his depth with the cards he’s been dealt. Too smart for his own good, with little to no street smarts. “He needed a friend, and getting injured together meant that he latched on to me. The same way you and Sebastian did, you understand?” We both dealt with different situations and went through them with different people. Those bonds are strong but never as strong as the one we share. Nothing ever will be. “It’s not romantic or sexual. You’re it for me. I can’t imagine looking at anyone else the way that I look at you. I couldn’t. I won’t.” He’s a necessity and a choice. I choose him, and it’s a path I’ll never turn from. Not even after death.

I caress his chin and jaw with my thumb. Light stubble pricks my skin, and then there’s smooth further down his throat. “Do you want me to stop talking to him?”

“Yes,” Spencer replies, zero hesitation.

I shouldn’t allow it. Indulging him always makes it worse, but I can’t say I don’t understand. I’m not entirely comfortable with his friendship with the lawyer, even after my statement. I know that Spencer is all mine, that nothing will ever take that from me. It doesn’t stop the curl of jealousy, of possessiveness, that shakes me when they spend time together. They had each other when they were taken all those months ago, and I hate that Sebastian gave him any kind of comfort. That’s my job. He’s mine to make feel better.

“Talk to him first,” I say softly, brushing my lips over the corner of his mouth. “Meet him properly, and after that, if you still want me to break it off, I will.” I’d remove everyone from my life if he really asked it of me. He would do the same. It doesn’t mean we need to act on it.

“Fine. One meeting.” He traces my face with the pads of his fingers, a bare ghost of a touch that spreads through me like wildfire. My eyes close, and I bask in it. “He doesn’t get to have any of you.”

“No,” I agree. Our next kiss is slow, a connection deeper than the physical. Ownership. Love. Unfortunately, the real world is still waiting for us. “We should go.” A reluctant truth. Greer’s going to be grumpy enough at this time of night. Keeping him waiting—even while he’s with Six —will only make that worse.

Spencer keeps hold of my hand while I drive and only reluctantly lets go when we get there. The second I circle around the vehicle, back to him, his hand slides into mine once more. He uses it to tug me into a kiss.

By the time we’re inside he’s smiling, eyes bright. No one would ever know about his turmoil or his anxiety. Nothing about the fear of abandonment is on his face. It’s not a mask, the smile is genuine, but there are parts of him that are mine alone. A satisfying knowledge.

The living room’s empty except for Greer and the woman upright on the couch. Her head rests back, mouth open. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think she’s asleep and not dead. The various “number” cards sitting everywhere are a solid indicator that not all is as it seems, however. Based on the empty wine glass and biscuits, she’d been having a relaxing evening before... whatever happened.

“How’d you clear the room?” Spencer asks Greer. There are no techs here, no police outside. Nobody but us.

“My sparkling personality.”

He’s a little—a lot—rough around the edges but not enough to stop professionals doing their job. Though I bet there’re a thousand dartboards with his face on them.

“Allery and her crew have already been through. Maverick’s on his way to pick up her body. We’re assuming this has something to do with your case.” Greer hands us both a pair of latex gloves. “Don’t fuck up my crime scene.”

“Where’s Six?” Spencer asks.

“Doing another search of the house.” Greer crosses his arms over his chest. “You spoke to her the other day; did she say anything weird or unusual that might tell us why this happened?”

This entire case is weird. He’s gonna have to be more specific than that if he wants answers. Hell, I’d like some answers.

“It’s more what she didn’t say,” Spencer says. He moves behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Made up a lie about how she found Veronica’s body. She can’t have been doing what she said, and we don’t know why she thought she wouldn’t be found out. We didn’t get a chance to follow it up yet.”

Now she’s taken all her secrets with her to the afterlife. That has to be deliberate. Someone wanted to shut her up. And they succeeded. It pisses me off that we didn’t catch this.

Six comes into the room, holding something in his hand. “Looks like the party’s started now,” he says with a grin. “Look what I found.” He holds up a bottle, and I squint at it, reading the side label.

“I don’t think sleeping pills are going to liven things up,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of parties do you go to?”

“Found them in the trash.” He uncaps it. “And it’s empty.”

“Yeah, usually when something is empty, you put it in the trash,” Spencer says, nodding. “Great detective work. I bet there are other empty things in the bin too. Maybe even a banana peel.”

“Cherry pits, but close. She filled the script for these a week ago. There’s no way she’s gone through that many, unless…” He trails off, and we all fill in the gaps.

Would Irene kill herself? The short glimpse we had of her, I’m not sure I believe it. Something else has to be going on here.

“There’s no damage to her throat, and she looks peaceful.” I turn her face back and forth, looking for any kind of bruising or cuts. Anything to indicate she fought for her life. Nothing. Not on her face, not under her nails, not with her clothing. “No signs of a struggle. She knew the person.” Trusted them enough to let them get this close.

“There’s no blood on her or anywhere in the house,” Six adds. “No attempt to clean something. She went without any fanfare: no struggle, no pain. Went to sleep, didn’t wake up.”

“Oh my god.”

We all pause and turn to Spencer. “What is it?”

“Sleeping pills. And wine,” he says slowly, eyes hard and lips pursed.

I understand immediately. “It’s how Veronica died.” Crap. “Well, how the media thinks she died. This is a message; it has to be.” They know who we are. And they know it’s a lie. “Whoever killed this woman killed Veronica. And it doesn’t look like he appreciates that we covered it up.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Greer mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where to now, then?”

I have no idea.