Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
THORNE
Well, that didn’t go as planned. At all. I watch as a frazzled and stressed-out Leaf pushes past me and disappears into the waiting car. How he managed to get one so quickly is beyond me.
But there is no time to lose. I rush to my own car to follow him, even as disappointment ripples through me.
I was looking forward to seeing his dick, as small as he claimed it to be.
I let my car fall back slightly so the driver won’t notice I’m following him. Leaf probably won’t even notice either, too preoccupied with what’s on his phone. Michael is an obsession I obviously can’t compete with. Who is he, really? An ex? A stranger Leaf is stalking?
An actual groundhog?
I shake my head as I follow the car onto the freeway, my heart racing as I try to keep up.
As I swerve around a few cars, my mind slips back to the last ten minutes of my life.
Everything is a jumbled mess. I walked into the room with the intention of trying to stop a potential madman from committing murder and found myself kissed breathless and wanting something I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted before.
I have no idea why I offered to give Leaf a hand job. I don’t do that. That’s not me. I’m a consummate professional. I never bend the rules, and yet there I was, wanting to see what it would feel like to wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke.
Maybe it’s because he’s cute, in an awkward way.
He’s got brown hair and pale skin, though I can tell he’s been working outside from his fresh tan.
He’s a twitchy little thing with lean musculature and a cute little quirk to his lips.
It’s obvious that ASL is one of his more primary languages because he’s always signing, even when he technically isn’t.
It was mainly those earthy-brown eyes and the way they watched me intently, like he wasn’t judging me for being hard of hearing, for wearing hearing aids, for my voice not being perfect.
But I’m not used to men like him. He was nervous, but sweet in a way I wasn’t expecting. Nothing like the vicious sociopath I thought I was meeting.
He’s obviously a criminal, an unhinged one at that, but there’s something about him that also…well…isn’t.
It doesn’t help that I offered to take his dick in my hand and stroke it. This could be some sort of psychosis, my brain giving up on me because I’m about to retire from the cybercrime division of the FBI, which has been my whole life up to this point…but maybe it isn’t.
Maybe it’s because I don’t think he’s as bad as his online presence has made him out to be. Maybe this is all just a huge misunderstanding.
Well, I’ll find out soon enough. I turn down a dirt road, trailing far enough behind him that he won’t get suspicious. But with the way the driver is speeding, I’m pretty sure Leaf has made it sound dire.
“Fuck,” I murmur. “I’ve lost my damn mind.”
Maybe I’m no better than the maybe-psychopath I’m currently following.
We turn down another gravel road, and I see a house in the distance. A cute little farmhouse with white siding and dark shutters. Something about this place seems familiar, like I’ve seen it in photos before.
Evidence photos.
My brow furrows, but I can’t quite conjure up the case, so I make a note to investigate the address when I get back to my desk.
Lights illuminate the property, and I bring my car to a stop at the end of the long driveway. My headlamps are switched off, and I sit in silence as I watch Leaf rush to the front door, tripping on the last step and falling headfirst against the door.
A wince draws my eyebrows together as he pushes himself upright and rubs at his temple.
That couldn’t have felt good.
But he doesn’t linger outside long. He shakes off the pain, then pushes inside the door and disappears.
The driver of the hired car cruises past me, and when he’s completely gone, I step out of my car and walk quietly to the front porch.
I try to lighten my weight as much as possible.
I have no idea if the steps are creaking, but I shuffle toward the door and hold my breath.
When Leaf doesn’t burst through the door, I press my better ear against it and pull out my other hearing aid so I can focus on that side alone.
I can hear muttering on the inside of the house and the sound of something breaking. My hand falls onto the doorknob, my hand on my gun as I push my way inside.
“Michael, you little shit,” I hear Leaf shout as another door opens and closes. “It’s time to die! This ends tonight! You ate your last fucking zucchini!”
I tiptoe my way inside, moving past stacks of boxes that are filled to the brim. The air is musty in here, and the decorations aren’t exactly what I’d expect a guy his age to have. But then again, who am I to judge. My apartment is small and bare. I don’t think I have a single decoration anywhere.
Maybe I should buy a plant, I think as I turn a corner and see Leaf on the front porch, binoculars pressed up against his eyes with one hand. With the other, he’s holding…is that a bat? With nails in it?
And what the fuck is he looking at?
Suddenly, he rushes forward, pulling goggles over his eyes, his jacket flapping behind him. I can’t help but follow, pulling the sliding door open and trailing after him. He doesn’t even notice I’m here.
He really needs better self-preservation. I wonder if he’s hard of hearing, too, because he doesn’t react to what I know are audible footsteps running after him.
Maybe it’s because he’s so focused, moving around several planters, but he doesn’t swerve around one correctly and falls onto his knees.
His hands splay out in front of him, his entire body falling face-first into the dirt, and I can just make out the way he grunts on impact.
The bat rolls to the side, several nails falling off in the process.
Oh my god, did he glue those on?
Leaf doesn’t move, and I just stand there, unsure of what to do.
Maybe he’s dead. Maybe his heart stopped from the stress.
The thought pushes me forward. I tuck my gun into the hidden holster I keep in the back of my pants, and I reach down, turning him over.
He grunts, his face covered in dust, his eyelashes an ashen brown.
When they flicker open, he blinks wildly.
“Am I dead? Is heaven going to be just one long hand job on the dark web?”
That makes me laugh, especially the way he signs it. So fucking clever. I help him sit up, and once again, I’m squatting before him and staring at his face.
A cute fucking face, if you ask me, which is not something I’m used to saying about men.
Except maybe Henry Cavill or Pedro Pascal, which might be saying something about me.
There were also a few times in training when I’d be working out with other guys in my class and things happened below the belt.
But it’s not worth thinking about right now.
“Why are you here?” he finally asks, using both his hands and his voice. I realize how easily the ASL is coming to me. Denver would be proud, which is not something I need to be thinking about right now.
I shrug. “Followed you.”
“Now, why would you do that? I told you it was forbidden. Verboten!”
I don’t answer. He wouldn’t like the actual reason, so I just shrug again. “Curious.”
“Well, you’ll be very bored, I assure you. There’s not much to see here.” He’s wrong about that. There’s so much here to process. It will take me an entire year to get through it all. “Oh shit. Michael.”
He scrambles up, almost knocking me back as he rushes forward.
I follow after him, my eyes taking in more now that I’m not running after him.
This is a huge backyard, one with raised planter boxes, several sheds in various corners, and the entirety of it is surrounded by trees.
Orchards, by the look of it. Those look familiar too.
What the hell? Maybe I’m making things up because I’ve never investigated property like this before.
He did mention a failed farm at one point online. My mind must have latched onto that.
“He’s gone. Oh my god. I can’t believe it.”
“Michael? He was here?”
Leaf looks like he wants to cry as he drags a hand through his hair, dislodging some of the dirt. “Yeah. Fuck.”
“Where would he go?”
“Back into hiding. That fucker.”
My mind conjures up all sorts of things—an escaped prisoner, a tortured victim—but for some reason, I can’t imagine Leaf doing anything terrible to someone.
I really can’t. But then again, he was trying to blow Michael up and was carrying a very poorly constructed baseball bat with nails in it.
No matter how many times he calls Michael a groundhog, I know it’s just some form of disassociation.
“Where is he hiding?”
“Underground. Good riddance! I hope an earthquake happens and you get buried alive!” He shouts this, the trees in the orchard rustling slightly behind him. He laughs maniacally and then looks like he’s going to cry once more.
“Did you know I’m allergic to apples?”
My eyebrows rise. “What?”
He sweeps his arms behind him. “Fucking apples! They’re all around me. First, Michael, and now the fucking fruits. They’re trying to kill me. Put me in an early grave! Godfuckingdamnit!”
He slaps his hands onto his legs and then starts to sob in earnest.
I stare at him, my hands not quite sure what to do. One half of me wants to pull him into my arms and hug him, the other realizes I should probably bring him in for questioning.
That’s what I’m supposed to do when someone’s a suspect of a crime. But fuck it. This is literally my last case before I retire, so what are they going to do? Fire me for not following protocol? I’m already not supposed to be here. I was told not to.
I look at him again and see the sad, dirty tear marks streaking his face as he cries. I gently touch his lower back, guiding him back toward the house. “Come on. You need to sit down.”
He inhales loudly and swipes at his cheeks, dirt smearing across his face even more as I guide him across the yard and back in through the front door.