Chapter 35
“You fed me cock. But I want garlic bread.”
The back of Kit’s right shoulder itched, up near his neck. Probably a hickey from one of his bitey boyfriends. He rubbed the spot, then draped over the back of the couch, hugging Darius from behind. Cheek pressed to Darius’s stubbled scalp, he breathed, “Hi.”
Darius leaned into the embrace. “Hi.”
Kit was never particularly into bald guys before meeting Darius. Not that he wasn’t into them. He just never thought about it one way or another. But there was something so satisfying about Darius’s head. Either smooth and soft, or rough with stubble like now. Like really sexy Velcro.
The TV was on but muted, and Darius clicked through menus. He was double-checking the Devil Whales game was set to record. Even though it was always set to record. Darius was particular like that.
Kit approved. Skipping commercials was important. So was pausing the game if anyone got distracted. Kit never used to give a shit about sports, but it turned out game night with his boys was fun.
“Game all set?” Kit asked, and nibbled Darius’s earlobe.
Groaning, Darius set the remote down, leaving the TV muted on the local news. “To what do I owe the cannibalism?”
Kit sucked Darius’s earlobe into his mouth. Just for a second. “I’m starving.”
He liked this. Flirting, clinging close from behind, savoring Darius’s warmth—without needing to control his facial expressions. No worries that his eyes were too cold, his smile too empty.
“We ‘fed’ you plenty earlier,” Darius said, stretching his neck beneath Kit’s wandering fingers.
Kit’s ass and throat would testify to that. “You fed me cock. But I want garlic bread. Did anyone order the pizza yet?”
“Bishop’s picking it up,” Darius said. “He should be here in twenty, garlic bread included.”
Kit froze. Just for a second. He toyed with the shell of Darius’s ear. “I didn’t know Bishop was coming over.”
“Sorry, I thought I told you.” Darius caught Kit’s hand and twisted around to face him. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Kit said immediately, forcing a grin. Too forced. Fuck. Kit switched gears to a dramatic sigh. “I’m just adjusting my plans to seduce my boyfriends at halftime.”
Darius smirked, dark gaze dropping to Kit’s kiss-bruised throat. “I can send him back.”
Kit slipped from Darius’s grasp to wag a finger. “Not before he delivers my garlic bread.”
Darius smirk melted into a laugh. Kit kissed the top of his head once, twice, three times, before Darius escaped to the kitchen. As dishes rattled into shelves, Kit retreated upstairs.
Slowly. Not running.
Heart pounding, Kit stopped at the upstairs landing. The arched window gave a perfect view of the front gate.
Darius was meticulous. He double-checked everything, unless he triple-checked. Maybe he really forgot to mention Bishop coming over. Why would he hide it on purpose?
Were they planning something?
Kit resented his own suspicions. He wanted to trust Darius, and he hated how paranoid Bishop made him.
No. Don’t think like that. Kit wasn’t paranoid enough.
Anger flickered, a tiny flame in Kit’s numb heart. How dare Bishop interfere with his tenuous peace? Nosy fucking bastard. Kit yearned for a confrontation. He wanted to scream at the asshole. Bishop had no right to run his DNA.
But Kit couldn’t say anything. Bringing it up would make Bishop ask how Kit knew. Every question would unravel new questions.
All Kit could do was seethe as Bishop’s car pulled up to the gate. Tonight was going to be awkward as hell.
Maybe Kit should seduce his boyfriends at halftime after all. Aggravating houseguest be damned.
Bishop entered bearing pizza, garlic bread, and ulterior motives. It seemed absurd that his stomach would grumble with hunger, as if his body should remain focused on his goals. But even Bishop’s concentration wasn’t immune to a twenty-minute car ride of delicious cheesy garlic smells.
Running through small talk with James, Bishop brought the food into the kitchen. He didn’t realize he was looking for Kit until James said, “He’s eating Darius’s face right now.”
When Bishop moved to the dining table, in full view of the TV room, Kit was just cuddling under Darius’s arm. A tuft of dark hair barely peeped above Darius’s shoulder. The TV was on but muted, a weather anchor gesturing at her map and arrows.
“Hey,” Bishop said, just like normal.
Darius waved without turning. “Hey.”
“Here to join the snuggle party?” Kit asked, rubbing his neck.
“You bet,” Bishop replied.
Kit stretched out like a sleepy cat. His jeans were baggy for once, thin knees visible through the gaping holes. “I should divide up the garlic bread. So everyone gets their fair share.”
“Fair share my ass,” Darius said, standing up as Kit darted into the kitchen. “You’re just claiming the best pieces for yourself.”
“Seems fair to me,” James chimed in.
Something thudded against the counter. Dividing the garlic bread sounded an awful lot like shamelessly making out.
“Wash your hands,” Darius called back to his friend and boyfriend.
For a moment, Bishop and Darius were alone in the dining room. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.
Kit was obviously hiding something. His eyes were too evasive, his invitation to snuggle too brash. Hiding something wasn’t new, of course. But Kit’s secrets were clearly top of mind right now.
Suspicion pinged a paranoid alarm, that Kit might know why Bishop was here. That didn’t make sense. Kit would have no way to know Bishop ran his DNA.
Unless Darius told him. Hard to unravel that from small talk. Darius was good at keeping himself in check. Either way, Bishop’s plan remained the same. Tonight, he and Kit would have an honest conversation.
“Let me grab you a beer,” Darius said, and ducked into the kitchen.
Bishop leaned against the table, idly watching the silent TV, which was now covering a local pet adoption event.
Controlling the circumstances was key for any interrogation.
Bishop had chosen this time and place—this audience—on purpose.
Kit couldn’t avoid Bishop’s questions while surrounded by his lovers.
Bishop couldn’t force him to answer, but just asking questions meant something.
Mysteries were harder to ignore once brought to light.
Having the others around also meant Kit would have backup. Kit would feel more secure knowing James was fully willing to punch Bishop in the face.
Darius returned, handing Bishop a beer. James and Kit trooped out with paper plates, lips redder than before they disappeared into the kitchen. Clearly nobody planned to do dishes tonight.
“Is Holden coming?” Bishop asked, turning away from the TV. He took a cold swig.
“He’ll be late,” James said. “We were going to wait on the game until he gets here, unless you’re dying to start.”
That was weird. When the hell did James and Holden start getting along?
“Fine by me.” Bishop weighed his options. He could start asking questions without Holden, but the interruption would be disruptive. Better to wait until Holden—
James’s eyes suddenly widened. Staring past Bishop’s shoulder, he breathed, “Shit.”
Kit’s garlic bread fell from his hands to his plate.
“What’s wrong?” Bishop asked, turning.
A chyron flashed across the silent TV. Bold white letters on a red banner declared PRISON brEAK IN SAN CORVO.
On half the screen, a news anchor made well-rehearsed, grim yet attractive faces. The other half of the screen filled with an overlay of two mugshots. Both were labeled, but Bishop didn’t need the names to recognize the first man.
His ex-partner, Archie Calvin.
“That’s your guy, isn’t it?” Darius asked.
“Yeah.” Bishop’s own voice sounded distant. “That’s Archie.”
Mechanically, Bishop set his beer down, then moved towards the living room. All his thoughts felt distant too, the gears struggling to turn. How the fuck did Archie get out? Why did Bishop find out like this, instead of from his contacts on the force?
Did this have anything to do with his visit, Archie taunting him through the plexiglass?
Why did Archie break out?
“Where’s the remote?” Bishop asked, then found it a second later. Fuck. He was slow. “I need to listen to this.”
And what did Archie plan to do next?
Bishop’s shock crystallized into focus. He locked in on the news anchor’s voice. The mugshots. Every word rolling across the chyron.
“—urges citizens to be alert and cautious,” the woman said. “Report any sightings of Calvin or Renaker to the hotline number, but do not approach—”
“Going to be a long night, huh,” Kit said, veering towards the staircase. “I’m going to make coffee.”
Efficient. Helpful. Kit was better in a crisis than Bishop right now.
“The coffeemaker’s in the kitchen,” James pointed out. He had his phone in hand, attention darting between screens.
“Half the mugs are upstairs,” Kit explained innocently. “No idea why.”
“Because you left them there!” Darius accused, but Kit was already upstairs. “Are you okay?”
A drawn-out silence later, Bishop realized Darius was talking to him. “I’m fine,” he said, the least believable lie he’d spoken in years. Bishop shook himself. “I just didn’t see this coming, and I don’t know what it means.”
Archie’s mugshot was familiar. Grizzled jawline, ruddy cheeks, a rare scowl. When they patrolled together, Archie was always smiling, even in the worst circumstances. Bishop used to think Archie was good-natured. Now he knew Archie just lacked empathy.
Laird Renaker’s name and mugshot were familiar too, but only glancingly. No details came to mind. Laird looked to be in his late fifties, with dark hair and intense eyes. The sort of punchably arrogant mugshot that always pissed Bishop off.
According to the anchor’s ongoing summary, Laird was a murderer.
A text buzzed into Bishop’s phone. He expected to see Archie’s name, even though that didn’t make sense. Archie wouldn’t contact Bishop. The text was from Paula—San Corvo Police Department’s chief of gossip.
Paula: Heads up, Archie broke out
Little fucking late on that.
“Old colleague,” Bishop told James and Darius, then called back.
Paula waited a few rings to answer. “Hey, give me a second.” Footsteps took her to a quieter environment. Probably the ladies’ room by the echo. She must be at the station. “Okay, now nobody’s breathing down my neck. Crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not that I’m unhappy to hear from you,” Bishop said, “but why am I hearing this after the press?”
“They sent someone to your house,” Paula said, voice hushed.
Bishop considered turning on speakerphone, but Paula might hear the change in tone. Instinct told Bishop not to trust her. Something about this was weird. “I’m not at my house.”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll be home soon,” Bishop lied. “Who did they send?”
“I can look that up.” Paula hesitated, as James edged closer, blatantly eavesdropping. “They might want to ask some questions. You visited Archie.”
“A visit you arranged,” Bishop pointed out, then winced. That was a mistake.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Paula snapped, and hung up.
Bishop rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt sluggish. Caught off guard. He usually kept his head in an emergency, but he didn’t even know if this was an emergency.
At least he wasn’t alone. Kit thumped downstairs, a clinking basket of god knew how many mugs in his arms. Kit gave one searching look to the TV, then to Bishop, before heading into the kitchen.
Kit and the others were keeping it together. Bishop needed to step up.
“Friend of yours?” Darius asked.
“Paula,” Bishop said. “Somebody might have told her to call me. Shit. Turn that back up.”
The news had switched to a reporter outside SCPD headquarters. “We’ve been told the fugitives were last seen near the Apricot Station bus stop. There will be a press conference soon, including—”
James put his phone to his ear next.
“Do you have cameras near Apricot Station?” Bishop asked.
“Hundreds. I’m still pissed we missed the prison contract, but—” Seamlessly, James transitioned to his charismatic CEO voice. “Has SCPD reached out to us yet?”
As his subordinate answered, James moved to Darius’s bedroom for quiet. From the kitchen, the coffeemaker started rumbling.
“Something’s not right,” Bishop said, hands tightening on the back of the couch. He didn’t remember getting so far into the living room. Like the news had drawn him magnetically forward.
Darius lowered the TV volume again. He was the only one still in the room, not yet launching into action. Making coffee. Checking cameras. Darius was keeping an eye on Bishop.
“Is Archie just running as far as he can?” Darius asked. “Or is he on a mission?”
Bishop didn’t know enough. He should be getting intel from his sources, not getting blindsided by local news. “Depends on which one is the ringleader, and how long they stay together.”
Darius leaned against the couch, not too close. “What do you mean?”
“Archie’s vindictive, but he’s also a coward,” Bishop said. “If this Laird Renaker acts as backup, yeah, Archie might try taking care of unfinished business. If they split up, Archie won’t take risks.”
Darius nodded. “That’s good. I think.”
The security system beeped, and the front door opened. Bishop jerked around, hand moving towards a gun he wasn’t carrying. Darius touched his own gun but didn’t draw.
Holden waved from the foyer. “Jumpy, much?”
Darius mostly relaxed. “Rain check on game night. Bishop’s ex-partner escaped from prison.”
“Cop partner,” James clarified, ducking back into the room. “Not boyfriend partner.”
“Not helping, J,” Darius warned.
Bishop didn’t have the energy to get pissed about that.
“Oh, cool,” Holden said, dumping his messenger bag by the stairs.
“That’s way more exciting than game night.
” He scanned the room with his usual single-minded focus, obviously looking for Kit.
Then he went rigid, transfixed by the TV.
The anchor was reviewing the story for new viewers, and the mugshots were back up.
“Where’s Kit?” Holden asked, his voice like ice.
“Making coffee,” Bishop answered, then frowned. Making coffee shouldn’t take this long.
“Find him,” Holden snapped, pointing at Laird Renaker’s mugshot. “That’s his dad.”