Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THORNE
“Tell me this isn’t going to short out and burn the house down,” I say as he sets the air fryer up on the counter.
He frowns. “I mean, I don’t think it’s ever been used before, so it probably won’t.”
It’s definitely not new, but it doesn’t look as busted as half the stuff he has in his house. “Where did you get it?”
“It was here with all the other crap my aunt left behind after she died.”
Right. Everything he’s got here is inherited from a dead aunt. I haven’t checked my email today, and I make a mental note to do it soon because there’s probably information waiting for me. I’ve just been spending a lot of time at Leaf’s, away from my computer.
Today, I met up with Denver in an attempt to do some reconnaissance on Leaf, but it ended up fruitless. He knew Leaf, of course, along with some other farmer, ex-interpreter who lived down the road, but Denver didn’t seem to have any knowledge about what Leaf was up to these days.
And he didn’t once mention Michael.
He did give me a good place to shop, and while I was adding groceries to my cart, I told myself this was only so I’d have an excuse to be closer to Leaf. It absolutely definitely did not have anything to do with the fact that I wanted to spend time with him.
That my full and complete bisexual awakening came on the heels of chasing down a possible murderer who sucked dick like a god.
My pants threaten to get a little tighter, so I shove those thoughts away as I finish seasoning the chicken. Leaf’s setting up the air fryer, and he makes a little “ta-da” motion with his hands after he plugs it into the wall.
The lights flicker for a second, and I raise my brows, but he only shrugs. ‘Cook,’ he signs.
I roll my eyes, then stick the chicken in the little drawer. I motion for him to step back, and he grins at me, still looking a little sleepy. My mouth tastes like him—like spit and booze. He’s becoming one of my most impossible addictions.
I should have done something about the fact that when I got back to his property, he was digging a grave.
And that wasn’t me assuming. He literally told me he was digging Michael’s grave.
The hole was definitely big enough for a human body, considering he was stuck in it, but from what I could see, he was just having another one of his breakdowns.
What he needed was food, sleep, and maybe another orgasm. If I can give him those three things, maybe he’ll start talking a little more about what’s really going on here.
I hit the button on the machine, and it whirs to life. I can feel the rumble more than I hear it, the subtle vibration on the countertop.
“Hell yeah, we’re in busi—”
Leaf’s words die along with the power. There’s a sort of popping sound somewhere off in the distance—loud enough I can pick it up in the suddenly very quiet room. And then I realize it’s dark.
Shit.
I’m not afraid, but it makes me more nervous when I can’t see now that I’m not able to hear the way I used to. Everything suddenly feels overwhelming. My chest constricts for a second, and then there’s a bright light shining in my eyes.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Leaf says quickly, grabbing my arm and lowering his phone and stepping in close so I can hear him properly. “Any idea what just happened?”
My brows furrow, but the answer’s obvious. This house is old as fuck and most definitely neglected. “It’s probably the breaker. Do you know where the box is?”
“Dude, I don’t even know where I am half the time.”
Something about the way he says that gets to me. I hum softly and drag him in, curling fingers around his jaw and holding him while I take a long, slow, deep kiss. I keep finding myself wanting to take care of this poor, chaotic bastard.
I want to wrap him up and feed him soup and then fuck him into a cum-coma so he can get some rest for once. Instead of doing all that, I kiss him a second time, then pull away.
“Sit down. I’ll be right back.” Then something occurs to me. “Is there a basement in here?” One thing I didn’t look for and forgot to ask about, which is amateur hour for me. The basement is always the first place I should look when trying to find a body. Or a missing person.
Or both.
He shrugs against my hands. I can see the motion in the glow of his light. “I don’t think so. I think there’s like a half-cellar thing, but the door hinges are rusted shut, and frankly, I don’t even want to know what my aunt was keeping in there. Probably old Costco Y2K food or something.”
He sounds like he’s telling the truth, but I make a note to take a deeper look once I have the chance.
Using my phone as a flashlight—because he doesn’t need to know I keep a mini Maglite along with a gun in my ass holster—I scour the house. Eventually, I find the fuse box in the laundry room. The two machines are newer, but the place, like everything else, is in desperate need of repair.
God, what would life be like if he weren’t a maybe-killer and he and I could be a thing? I could help him with all this. I’m about to retire, after all. We could rip out the apple trees and plant something he can eat. We can fix up the garden and protect it against vindictive rodents…
Shit, now I’m buying into his fucking groundhog fantasy.
I shake my head, shoving the thoughts away as I open the little door and see that a fuse did indeed blow. I flip the three switches that are sitting the wrong way, and I feel a buzzing against my fingers. Seems like success.
When I come into the kitchen, Leaf is giving a Deaf applause.
I take a bow, and he jumps up from his seat and kisses me soundly. ‘My hero,’ he signs.
I roll my eyes, but fuck, that makes me feel some type of way.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself if he’s actually guilty.
Or what my boss will do to me. Getting involved with a criminal.
What the fuck am I thinking? And god, if he actually is guilty and I have to see evidence that he’s hurt someone.
Or someones.
And I’ll have to testify.
I shake that thought away. It’s better for my mental health not to think about it. Part of me just wants to ask him directly because I think he’ll be honest.
It’s not like he knows I’m with the FBI. Maybe he trusts me enough to tell the truth.
‘Sit,’ I sign back at him, then point firmly to the chair he’s just abandoned. His bottom lip juts out adorably, and I can’t help but dart in and bite it before pushing him back until he does what I asked in the first place.
As he sits in the chair, he gives me a sassy look, folding his arms across his chest. I want to crawl between his legs and do things to him, but instead, I turn my back on him to take the chicken out of the air fryer.
I don’t trust the electrical wiring in the house, but as I rummage through the cabinets, I find a cast-iron pan that looks very well seasoned.
“It’s not going to taste as good as having it grilled, but if you give me a few minutes, you’ll thank me.”
“Oh, I’ll thank you plenty, don’t you worry,” he rumbles.
I flush, feeling his gaze on me as I’m finishing up the dinner, and then something in the room shifts. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel it. And when I turn, I see him slumped over his arms, soundly asleep.
My heart twists. He’s obviously exhausted from digging that hole, but it seems like more than that. Maybe it’s his life. Or maybe being a killer is harder than most people expect. All that stress and anxiety.
But my well-trained gut is telling me that really isn’t it. That there’s something else going on with him.
Switching the burner off, I rummage around some more until I find something that can be used as a tea tray, and instead of waking him, I plate everything and walk it to his bedroom.
It looks much the same as it did the first time I saw it.
The bed is messy, and there are clothes in piles near the bathroom door and unpacked boxes stacked in the corner near the window.
It’s very chaotic. Very…him.
Setting the tray on the nightstand, I turn back and head to the kitchen.
I hate the thought of waking him. He looks peaceful, but I also don’t think he’ll thank himself or me if I let him stay there all night.
Plus, he needs to eat. Desperately. I can’t imagine how many calories he burned digging that fucking…
No, I’m not going to call it a grave.
I debate shaking him, then decide fuck it. I’m older, but not that old. I scoop him up in my arms, and his head lolls onto my shoulder. He’s a heavier weight than I’ve managed in a while, especially when he stirs and his eyes snap open.
“Are you…carrying me?” His voice is sleep-thick and soft against my ear. “I thought we were having dinner.”
“We are.” I don’t explain because I’m out of breath walking him up the stairs, but when I make it into the bedroom and he sees the food on the tray, he gasps.
He slides from my arms, but instead of heading to the bed, he turns and grips me by the side of the neck, kissing the breath straight from my lungs.
I hold on to him, licking into his warm mouth, tasting him. And when we finally part, our lips linger against each other, and he murmurs something against mine.
I can’t make out the words, but when his hand comes up between us, fingers touching his chin, I realize he’s saying, ‘Thank you.’
My lips curl up, and I gesture for him to get comfortable.
As Leaf settles in bed, he quirks a brow and waves his hand at me to get my attention. “I have sweats you can borrow since it’s never fun to lounge around in jeans,” he says, gesturing toward the dresser.
I open the drawer and grab what he’s offering. It’ll be nice to get out of these clothes. Glancing to the left, I see the bathroom and head over, stopping when he bursts into laughter.
“What?” I’m a little self-conscious, I think, though his laughter doesn’t sound cruel.
Rolling his eyes, he leans toward me. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. You can change right here.”