16
When I returned to Gabe’s house with my herbarium , I was surprised to find him in the kitchen, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, preparing dinner on the stovetop.
“Hey,” I call out bashfully. The last time that Gabe and I were in the kitchen together was when Blake was fucking me over the table, so I feel a tad embarrassed about using his furniture as a prop for sex.
“Hey, Rae,” he swivels around to look at me with a welcoming smile. I hope he’s already forgotten what happened here earlier.
“A meal with our meeting? That’s fancy. You must have a lot to say,” I say apprehensively because being alone with him makes me nervous. Before I depart to my bedroom, I need to get something off my chest. “Um,” he looks back at me again with silver eyebrows raised, curious what to say. “I’m really sorry about what happened…” I’ll apologize for the slightly worse thing before the terrible thing because the terrible thing is more embarrassing than the less terrible thing. “Your bed. When you discovered me there. It’s disrespectful and-”
He flicks his hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Really?” Maybe I should keep going while I’m on a roll, but I bite my lip to stop myself when I consider climbing into his bed again when he’s also on it.
“I understand you were probably lonely,” he answers coolly, so mature and understandable, yet his words make me feel pathetic and weak. “I’ve been working extra shifts to put a case to bed, so…you’ve been here in my house alone and probably don’t know the area well.” His words linger in the air for a few moments before they sink in, hitting harder than I would’ve liked.
I swallow back my self-disgust. “So, is the meeting about me returning to my apartment? There’s no need to make a big deal if you want me to leave.” I answer, tears welling up from the hurt and rejection caused by my being an idiot.
His back is turned while he chops enough potatoes to feed an army. “No,” he answers flatly, giving little away.
“So, you don’t mind me staying?” I ask, desperate for clarity, and I can’t see his face to know what he’s not telling me.
“I think you should stay a little longer,” he answers sternly, glancing back at me this time with smiling eyes and a mouth I’m desperate to kiss again. “For your safety.”
I nod in agreement, grace him with a smile before I depart and run upstairs. The space between my legs pangs a little from Blake’s cock being there a couple of hours ago, ramming me hard until we’re tangled in each other arms.
It’s funny that we met through Z. Me buying a gun, him noticing that I didn’t know how to use it, and now we’re constant lovers. But it does raise more questions than answers. The one man who runs into me in the pool, berates me afterward, and then pursues me romantically is also a childhood friend of the gun seller and the son of the detective who saved me from ruin two years ago.
What are the odds?
“Huh, what the odds?” I mutter as I take out a fresh pair of underwear from my bag because mine are still sticky after the session with Blake in my apartment. If I stay a while, maybe I should put my clothes away in the drawers and closet. Or maybe getting too comfortable will only cause disappointment when Gabe asks me to leave eventually.
I found a nice floral blouse and a summer skirt for dinner, a little more formal than shorts and a T-shirt since we’re having a meeting . That seems business-like.
While brushing my thick, luxurious hair, I consider all the questions I should ask him after the meeting as we dine this evening. The man dropped from the apartment window, which was a good place to start. Did he slip, or did Gabe let him slip? Then there’s the elephant in the room: a detective associated with murderers. I mean…that’s hardly a good look for the Torres Island Police Department. I chuckle at the absurdity of it.
Here’s another question I can ask…Blake turned up at my murder scene and my apartment, like he, by some miracle, knew where I was. Nope. Without a doubt, I’m being tracked and followed. Not that I mind that much, but it would’ve been nice if they told me.
Of course, I can’t get past the strange coincidence that they know each other and choose to bring me into their personal lives. When I look at it from this perspective, I’d say it was planned down to the last detail, but that could be my paranoia. Even if I asked, would Gabe tell me the truth?
I stand in front of the mirror as I gather my hair in my hands to tie into a ponytail, but my golden hair on this occasion looks today and…if I’m going to be honest, if I can impress Gabe with what natural born talents I have, I’d call that a win. I let my long hair fall down my back like a golden waterfall and checked myself over three times for blemishes and food stains before returning downstairs.
To my disappointment, I can hear voices in the throes of a lively conversation in the kitchen and discover that Mr. Sullen himself is here.
“You’ve scrubbed up nicely,” Cormac says, leaning down to kiss my neck, inhaling the scent of my hair while his hand pats my bum. I’m a little embarrassed he did that in front of Gabe, and now Gabe knows that I’m sexually involved with both his son and Blake, but I need to let him know that there’s room for him, too. However, something tells me he’s not the type of man to share a woman with.
“Thanks,” I reply as he pops open a bottle of Sav Blanc as if he’s staying for dinner. “Are you here for the meeting, too?”
“Yep,” he replies, grabbing a stem glass from a cupboard. “Wine?”
“Sure. Thanks, but ah…what type of meeting is this?” The liquor will give me the courage to ask the questions that need honest answers.
“A family meeting,” a voice replies behind me, and it’s Blake’s usual friendly manner, who can charm the scales of a rattlesnake. He kisses me on the cheek, and I look to Gabe, who’s the only man in the room who hasn’t kissed me or fondled me in one way or another, to see if he wants to grab my bum as well, but he’s too busy organizing the food. Damn.
Cormac, “Bro, beer or wine? Or something harder?”
“Beer,” Blake answers as Cormac hands me a glass of wine.
“Go sit at the table,” Gabe flicks his hand at us to leave his busy space. We file out and head to the dining room, beautifully decorated with lit white candles and fancy cutlery. It seems more like a romantic dinner than a business one.
“Wait. Are you two going to propose marriage to me?” I joke when I take in the scene before me.
“Not yet,” Blake replies under his glass of beer, and I smile, knowing that he’s joking…or is he?
“No, we’re buttering you up,” Cormac states, dragging out a chair for me to sit on like the gentleman he is. Although I wouldn’t consider fucking me up a tree overly gentlemanly, but no one is perfect.
I smooth my skirt down and graciously take my seat. Blake sits directly opposite, and Cormac is at the bottom of the table, whereas Gabe’s place is at the top, where the king should be.
I let the wine wash across my tongue, the bubbles invigorating my senses, tickling my nose as Cormac’s narrowed eyes watch me closely. A smile draws from my lips being dined by my beautiful men, feeling quite spoiled, but I’m apprehensive about why we’ve been gathered and what the meeting is about.
“How was your day?” Cormac asks, then takes a sip of his beer.
“I arrived late for work and was given a verbal warning, so I worked overtime,” I explain. I didn’t want to tell them the warning was from our liaison in the woods because I didn’t want Gabe to overhear. “Then I overheard one of the coaches talking about Lyons. It seems most students believe that Lyons wife is the murderer because she found out he was a cheating rapist.” I sip my wine again to smother the brick of guilt in my gut. “I really hope she doesn’t get blamed.”
Blake leans back in his chair. “Why would she? She’s got a tight alibi,” he states confidently.
“Really? How do you know?” I frown, wondering if his statement came from a place of fact or assumptions.
“Gabe told us,” he replies. “Don’t worry about it, Rae. It’s all covered.”
I’m even more confused now. “What’s all covered?”
“The entire gig. It will never lead back to you, and an innocent will not be arrested for it,” he explains casually as if he’s talking about visiting the zoo rather than a double homicide. Nothing seems to faze him.
“What about Gavin the Pig?” I ask, glancing at Cormac for input, but he lets Blake do the talking.
Blake shrugs nonchalantly. “Home invasion.”
“But, the police might find DNA or something else to incriminate you,” I argue, as my chest tightens from the stress.
Blake seems amused. “I’ve been in this field of business for a while, babe,” he answers charmingly. “As I said before, we’ve got it covered. You seem to have forgotten that Gabe is a detective in our splendid police force.”
“I haven’t forgotten. And is that sarcasm?” I brush his comment aside as the man himself enters carrying a platter of roast chicken surrounded by roast potatoes and yams.
“Well, look at that,” Blake croons. “I haven’t seen a bird like that in so long.”
“It looks wonderful,” I drool, realizing how hungry I am. “Holy cow, that crispy skin looks so good.”
“I’ll carve,” Gabe suggests smoothly, “I don’t trust you three with a knife.”
Was that a joke? It’s hard to tell because he’s so level, and I’ve heard him raise his voice because he commands attention just by being in the room. He doesn’t need to speak.
His large, strong hand grips the knife and slices that bird like butter while I sip my wine as if it were orange juice, and it’s going straight to my head.
After slicing several bits, pulling off legs, and placing them on our plates, his hand finds my empty wine glass and removes it. “No more for you,” he proclaims smoothly, holding his for only a few seconds before sitting down. “We need you level-headed.”
“For this mysterious meeting?” I ask, hoping he’ll give me a hint as to what it’s about.
“Yes,” he answers, reaching across the table for the roast potatoes and offering me two. There’s a moment of intensity when our eyes meet again, and nerves curl about my body until he looks away and focuses on his son sitting opposite him. “Need carbs for training?”
“Plenty,” Cormac replies, reaching across the table for the potatoes and a dish of peas, carrots, and corn on the cob. “My time has been lagging lately.”
Gabe pauses in concern. “Why?”
Cormac snorts. “All the drama that’s been going on with Lyons,” he replies. “A two IC coaches have stepped onto the top spot, and even though she’s good, she’s yet to find someone to take her place. She’s also training some of the lower-ranking teams.”
“Oh,” I sigh in guilt, feeling it’s my fault.
Cormac adds to make me feel better, “Not many in the team care that much about Lyons being gone; we just need more hands on deck, so to speak.”
“So, I haven’t ruined everything for you by removing Lyons from the team,” I ask heavy-heartedly.
“It’s been more of an inconvenience to most people rather than a drastic loss,” he explains, pouring gravy over his moist chicken leg while digging my fork into a roasted sweet potato, glancing at Gabe for a reaction to our conversation, but his expression is blank and unreadable.
“So…” I address Gabe, “it can’t be good for you having you know…me…us under your roof,” I tread carefully because I’m unsure how much he knows.
He licks those lips, sips his beer, and swallows before answering, “I’m unsure what you mean.”
My cheeks burn as I look to Blake for help. Maybe he doesn’t know. Perhaps this is all a dream, and I’ll wake tomorrow in my bed in the tiny apartment, disappointed to find out that Lyons is still alive and I have to kill him all over again. Don’t even go there.
“She means, you know,” Cormac says while chewing, “she’s a little killer, and you’re in the Torres Police Department.” Cormac looks at me for input. “Isn’t that what you mean?”
“Your reputation,” I clarify, “as a detective will-”
“My reputation is the last thing I need to worry about. If I’m harboring proven murderers, then I’d be arrested and likely imprisoned, so…”
“Oh my god,” I gasp, guilt stirring, making me feel terrible. “Should I leave?”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Gabe replies in a steely voice, the tone saying more than the words. “You’ll stay until it’s safe.”
I hesitate a moment to think this over. Gabe knows precisely what he’s doing, and I’m sure the choice to keep me under his roof is rational. Just because I can’t see the rationale behind it, it doesn’t mean he can’t. He has significant experience in life and career, so I shouldn’t second-guess him. “Okay,” I nod. Blake shoots me a dimpled smile while Cormac’s gaze is steady as he devours the food on his plate.
Silence falls as Gabe sips his beer and cuts chicken off the bone. “The keyword is ‘proven’,” he adds. They have to prove that you did the crime, and right now…the investigating officers are a million miles away from you, both in evidence and hunches.”
“Do you know this for sure?” I ask as my stomach starts to settle from the stress of the conversation, so I continue to eat.
“Yep,” he answers confidently. “And that also goes for number two on your list.”
I swallow over a lump in my throat as a spiral of nerves recolonized my stomach, turning me off the beautiful food on my plate. “Number two. Gavin the Pig?”
“Yep,” he replies, then sips his beer. “The investigating officers have virtually concluded that it was a home invasion random attack.”
“But I don’t want an innocent to be arrested for it,” I argue, tucking my hair behind my ear as those eyes run down my flowing hair to my bare neck before looking away.
“No innocent person will be convicted for the murders,” he replies steadily, entirely in control.
“How can you be so sure?” I probe further to see how far I can go with these men.
“Eat your meal,” he says, pointing to my barely touched plate with his knife.
I shovel a piece of roasted sweet potato into my mouth, chew, and hum at the taste. “Interesting meeting, by the way.”
He slips me a look laced with a drop of mischievousness that I haven’t seen in him before. “The meeting hasn’t officially commenced,” he informs me.
“Oh?” I look to Blake, sitting opposite me, for a contribution. He is unusually reticent for a man who likes to spin a yarn, but his eyes watch me closely, holding warmth and humor. “When will it officially commence? At dessert? After dinner, coffee?”
He sips his beer, licks froth off his lips, rubs his stubbly jaw with his knuckles, and says, “We can start now.”
A shadow casts across his face as the intensity in the room increases. His demeanor has changed from warm to cold in two seconds flat, and now I’m freaking out, expecting something terrible to happen. Have they planned this? Is this a staged set-up? Are the police about to walk in and arrest me?
“Okay,” I swallow nervously, glancing at the exit and imagining how to escape this house without these three men catching me. I’d have to go past Cormac first, but those long arms and massive hands won’t let me reach the front door. “What is the topic of the meeting?”
“Well…” he starts, swirling the inch of beer left in his glass. “Let’s start with Blackadder.”
My chest tightens as the walls seem to close in on me, the floor gives way beneath my feet, and the temperature suddenly rises from warm to sweltering. My fingers tap on the table, irritably, eager to wrap around my glass topped up with wine so I could swallow it down to help me deal with this moment of hell.
It’s over.
My secret is out of the bag.
Blackadder