Chapter 26
proper, logical anxiety
Flipping another grilled cheese sandwich, Kit felt extremely useless. A pile of sandwiches already gleamed on the cutting board. Maybe prepping the entire loaf of sourdough was excessive, but Kit didn’t feel like making a side dish.
And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
Bishop had already identified the two unknown sketchy guys from last night’s photos. He and James were in the half-set-up office, researching them. So far, nothing exciting.
Fuck. Kit really needed to get that sexy GED tutor. At least if he ever wanted to be more useful than basic clerical work and even more basic cooking. What did he contribute to this messy relationship—easy hole and emotional support?
Kit exhaled through his teeth. Flipped the sandwich again, then flipped it back because he hadn’t let it sit long enough. All right, cooking and file sorting and emotional support were useful. Except he wasn’t even good at those.
No.
Kit poked the sandwich with the spatula. No pity party today. Kit refused to tumble down those familiar mental paths.
He was good at working for Bishop, especially considering his lack of training. When he wasn’t throwing a tantrum about Bishop’s crime of asking reasonable questions. So, yeah, Kit needed to chill on the office drama, but otherwise, surprisingly competent.
He was good at hiding from his past, too. That was a skill.
He was getting better at loving people, even if his taste in men was decidedly questionable.
Most importantly at the moment, Kit was fucking amazing at grilled cheese sandwiches. Add garlic. Then more garlic. Then more garlic, just in case.
As he climbed his lime green stepladder to put the garlic powder away, Kit’s phone buzzed. He conscientiously turned off the stove, then wiped the grease off his fingers before checking the group chat.
Darius: Work thing came up, I’ll be out for the weekend.
Darius: Holden – can you finish clearing out the apartment fridge for me?
The reply appeared as Kit watched.
Devoted Admirer: sure
Devoted Admirer: unless my darling Kit needs anything :) :) :)
Kit: i made like a billion sandwiches
Kit: but they’ll keep lol
Darius: Sorry to miss them. Make me one when I’m back, okay?
The apology muted Kit’s resentment. Next time, the sandwiches would be even better.
But Kit could still be a brat about it.
Kit: you fucking wish
Vaguely uneasy, Kit set some sandwiches aside for Holden, then brought the rest into the office. Kit didn’t like Darius suddenly disappearing. That was how Darius was, though. That didn’t change just because they lived together now.
James’s new home office was still messy, wires not taped down and hidden yet. The mess felt purposeful. Comfortable. As long as nobody tripped.
James devoured most of the sandwiches, while Bishop seemed appreciative but wary of the amount of garlic. Coward. Kit ate two, slowly, trying to figure out how else he could be useful.
Before he could figure it out, his phone buzzed again. Then kept buzzing. A phone call from Devoted Admirer.
“Who’s that?” James asked, instantly suspicious.
Kit answered the question and the call by saying, “Hey, Holden, what’s up?”
“Hello, darling,” Holden said, serene. “I swear I didn’t do it, but there’s a dead guy in this apartment.”
Kit’s first thought was Darius.
But Holden would have used his name. Someone else was dead in Darius’s apartment. It wasn’t like Darius to bring work home.
Pulling the phone from his lips, Kit told the others, “Holden found a body in the apartment. I’m putting him on speaker.”
Tension spiked in a flurry of small sounds. Devices set aside, chairs shifting against the carpet. Kit set his phone on James’s desk as James leaned forward and Bishop stood beside him.
“Is Darius there?” Bishop asked. “Was there a struggle?”
“It’s Terry,” Holden answered instead, and the room fell silent.
That was one mystery solved. Weird, reflexive emotions flicked through Kit’s mind. Annoyance that they spent all night looking for Terry. Guilt for thinking of him as a slutty octopus. Then Kit settled on proper, logical anxiety.
“No sign of Darius,” Holden continued. “Someone killed Terry offsite, then staged him here. He’s been dead for at least a day but spent some of that time on ice. Rate of decomp… God, I love putting my major to use.” His cheerfulness was clear. “I can send pictures. Do you want pictures?”
“If it’s safe, take pictures of the scene,” Bishop said. “Then get the hell out of there.”
James stood, excitement sharp beneath his words. “This is a warning. They know about us.”
Kit met Bishop’s eyes to find a mirror of his own alarm. Excitement was a dangerous reaction.
“Get back to the house,” Bishop said. “Try not to be followed.”
There were footsteps on the other end. “Will do. I just need to squeeze Terry into the fridge somehow, so the neighbors don’t smell it.”
Bishop rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t touch anything. What the hell are they teaching in criminology these days?”
“I’ll take photos first,” Holden assured him. “But if management finds this corpse, that will totally fuck up the sale for D. And probably land all of us in prison.”
“He’s not wrong,” James remarked, fingers tapping.
“He doesn’t care about that.” Kit crossed his arms to prevent his own nervous fidgeting. “He just wants an excuse to fuck with the body.”
Holden’s laugh was relaxed. “Mom taught me not to leave a mess in the kitchen. Don’t make stupid plans without me. Later, darling.”
The line clicked off.
Kit scrambled to dial back. “Fuck you, we’re not done yet!”
They didn’t know where Darius was, they didn’t know how Terry died, they didn’t know—
Bishop gently confiscated Kit’s phone. “Holden knows more but doesn’t want to say it over the phone.”
“Not the phone,” James said. “He’s worried Darius’s apartment is bugged. Goddammit.”
Following their logical leaps left Kit dizzy. He wanted Holden back now. Forget stuffing the corpse in the fridge. But Kit couldn’t make Holden come back any faster, and there were still pieces they could put together in the meantime.
“Darius told Holden to go to the apartment.” Kit waved for his phone, so he could pull up the group chat. “He wanted Holden to find Terry. Why wouldn’t he just tell us himself?”
“He wants us to follow, but not too fast,” Bishop said. “He’s controlling the timing.”
James threw himself into his desk chair. “Back to the fucking camera network. Bishop, rummage around.” He pointed. “There’s a bug detector in one of those boxes. Holden doesn’t walk in here until we know he’s clean.”
Bishop didn’t seem phased by the terse order. He moved towards the boxes, then jerked around and caught Kit by the shoulder. “Hey. Everything’s going to be okay. We just have a puzzle to solve.”
“I hate puzzles,” Kit grumbled, leaning into Bishop’s touch.
Sometimes, being read so well wasn’t a bad thing.
“Liar.” Bishop squeezed Kit’s shoulder before letting go. “I’ve seen how many puzzle games you have on your phone.”
“Feeling kind of attacked, here.” Kit forced a grin, searching his head for something to offer, something to do, something useful, landing on— “I’ll, uh, make more sandwiches?”
“That would help,” Bishop said.
Hesitating, Kit waited for a word from James. The one actual boyfriend he had in the room right now. But James was locked into his screens. Nothing short of a grenade could shake his concentration now.
Kit fled before Bishop could do something horrible like comfort him again.
The giant yet cozy house had quickly become familiar, but now it felt strange.
Unsettling. Kit mechanically retrieved the cheese and bread, then stared at the bread knife, unsure what to do next.
His reflection was blurry in the blade. Maybe he should make a different kind of sandwich.
Darius liked pastrami, but they didn’t have—
Kit realized what was bothering him.
Everyone else jumped immediately to triangulation. Working around the edges of the problem. Bishop and James, and Holden too apparently, were so used to stalking and investigating. But if Kit wanted to know where Darius was, couldn’t he just ask?
This wasn’t like their search for Terry or the second Rat King. They shouldn’t have to scour CCTV. This was a relationship. Even Kit knew direct communication was better than just talking around people.
And if Darius was off doing assassin things, he should have his phone on silent. So, no worries about interrupting him. Kit dialed Darius’s number. The phone rang once. Twice.
Cut off halfway through the third.
A deliberate refusal. Darius either couldn’t talk or wouldn’t talk. Kit wasn’t sure what scared him more.
Kit’s next useful achievement was bringing in more chairs. He perched in one abducted from the breakfast room, reading about the sketchy guys Bishop had already identified.
Just normal search results, nothing confidential. Arrest records, the occasional news article. Bishop hadn’t had time to dig into anyone yet. The sketchy guys, Terry, Darius—the target was changing too quickly. Their investigation couldn’t lock in on anyone.
Kit struggled to focus on anything longer than a paragraph. His nerves only half-settled with Holden’s safe return. Bishop brought him back up to the office, with an official, “He’s clear.”
“Missed you, darling,” Holden said, ignoring the others. He ruffled Kit’s hair, then stood behind him to continue fucking with his hair. “A new boba shop opened up near campus. We should go sometime.”
His hands smelled strongly of ocean breeze dish soap. Kit felt a little queasy about what Holden had scrubbed away.
Not queasy enough to reject the soothing head-pets.
“Did you take photos?” Bishop asked.
One hand left Kit’s hair, and after a few taps, Holden handed over his phone. “Exit that specific album at your own risk. The rest of my photos are for a certain someone’s eyes only.”
A lesser man might have rolled his eyes. Bishop simply swiped through the crime scene photos.