Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THORNE
I didn’t mean to do this again—to get distracted by Leaf’s body and the way he makes me feel.
And the way I clearly make him feel.
There’s no denying what this is, there’s just no real definition to it. We’ve made no commitments. No promises.
But I realize in that moment, as I watch him sleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm after those lungs heaved for breath all evening, if he asked me to be more, I would say yes.
I could pose the question myself.
I could ask him to be mine—to let me keep him. But I’m not sure I’ve earned the right, considering the lies I’ve told. It’s all part of the job, but I still have to deal with the consequences, no matter the reasons behind my deception.
Glancing at the clock, I debate getting up and doing a little more investigating. Leaf knows I’m looking for clues now—for some kind of evidence that his aunt was linked to the disappearances of people over two decades. I feel confident he’d give me permission to snoop all I wanted.
The man doesn’t seem to keep secrets. He doesn’t seem to find any sense in it. It’s one of the ways we’re so different and one of the things I adore most about him.
Second, of course, his body. Or, well, third, because I like his face too. And his hands. And the way he kisses the breath from my lungs and the way he seems to tear every orgasm from my body simply by existing.
So, okay, our differences are pretty far down the list of things I’m obsessed with about him, but it is a very long list.
Swinging my feet over the edge of the bed, I glance at my hearing aids but decide to leave them in the charging case. Leaf is good about alerting me to his presence when he comes into a room, so I don’t feel like I’m going to have the shit scared out of me.
I snag my boxers and a pair of his sweats, then pad out of the room and make my way to the dining room, where the massive number of boxes I haven’t gone through are waiting.
From the case notes, agents were never able to obtain a warrant to go through Lynda’s home, so now I have open access to it.
I know there’s a locked cellar door that Leaf hasn’t been able to get through, a box on the table that’s sealed shut, plus the strange concrete stamp that had been for a silo that never went up.
There are probably a thousand other hidey-holes around here where a body might be. Or many bodies.
The thought makes me feel strange inside. We could be living on what is essentially a graveyard. I’ve been doing this job for years, but it never gets easier to know that I’m ten steps away from the worst of humanity.
Turning on a light, I pull the sealed box toward me, and this time—with actual determination—I work on getting it open.
It’s sealed with something weaker than superglue, because after going at the seam with one of Leaf’s old steak knives, it eventually gives way.
I’m not sure what to expect when I pop the lid, but I’m bracing myself for the worst.
Instead of body parts or a head, or something that she might have wanted to hide forever, there are old photos of her and a boy that looks quite a bit like Leaf only he’s wearing large hearing aids—the old-school kind with the neck strap and chest box—some letters from people that look like they were penned in the sixties, and a pile of old 45s that would probably fetch quite a bit of cash.
I set those aside for Leaf, but there’s nothing in there to indicate a person went missing.
The next box is much of the same. Sealed shut, but the lid is easily removed, and nothing in there indicates she was a killer.
The one after that has old lady clothes, some blankets, and a couple of pamphlets for funerals that were held in the mid-nineties. One of them is a woman called Rose, who looks a lot like Leaf. A grandmother, maybe?
She died in San Jose, which tracks with what I know about Leaf. He’s quite a ways from home, and I can’t help but wonder how well he knew his aunt or how much time he actually spent here.
Hell, I don’t even know how he got into interpreting, though realizing he had a Deaf relative in those old photos probably had something to do with it. The couple of interpreters I’d met when I was taking Denver’s classes had family members who were Deaf, which was why they got into the program.
Leaf’s been tight-lipped about a lot of his past, and I make a mental note to ask him once he’s awake and not feeling overwhelmed by everything.
I sigh and shove that thought aside as I pull a larger bin toward me.
It’s light, and as I shake it, I can feel something tumbling against the side.
When I go to pull the lid off, it’s the same, only this one gives me trouble.
This one refuses to budge until I dig the blade of the knife deep into the plastic and begin to cut.
Something in my gut tells me not to give up, and eventually, it pops free.
I’m hit in the face with a sour, musty old smell that makes me cover my nose until it dissipates into the air a little.
Prying the lid fully open, I almost dismiss it entirely as more junk. It’s just shoes.
But…then I look closer. They’re not all women’s shoes. And they’re not all from the same decade. That is strange. It could be nothing, but it could be something.
Standing up, I put the bin on the chair and pull out the first one. It’s a white classic Reebok in amazing condition, except for the fact that it’s covered in dirt and it’s been sitting around for forever. I turn it over, and…oh fuck.
I’m too well trained not to recognize old blood.
My heart begins to pound in my chest as I pull out the second shoe. A slip-on with a slight heel. The next is a man’s running shoe. Nike. No blood, but it looks like it’s been dragged over something rough and ragged, the way it’s scuffed on the side.
I don’t have the right tools to be doing all this, and I can’t call anyone in until I have more evidence than a dead semi-hoarder’s shoe collection. I put everything back and slam the lid down on the bin.
It vibrates through my feet. Wait, no. That isn’t the bin. I turn and see Leaf standing in the doorway, looking concerned.
‘Did you find something?’ he asks, his hands a little slower than usual. He looks like he just woke up, standing there sleep-soft with rumpled hair and pillowcase creases on his cheek.
‘I don’t know.’ Biting my lip, I hold up a finger for him to wait, then curl that finger around the back of my ear. I want my hearing aids for this.
Leaf nods, then waves at me when I turn to walk away. ‘Tea?’
Tea would be very nice right now. I nod, and he moves into the kitchen as I hustle to the bedroom and slip them from the case. I shove the molds into my ears and wait for the little ping, then the whoosh of rushing air as sound erupts around me.
I grab a shirt for good measure. It feels weird to be talking about serial killer aunts—even alleged ones—with my nipples on display. Running my fingers through my hair, I head back for the kitchen and stop when I hear a noise. It takes me a second to recognize humming.
My face breaks out into a smile despite all of this, and I stop in the entryway, watching Leaf sing quietly, shaking his hips along with the tune. When he stops, I give him a small golf clap.
He bows, his ears red. “How much of that could you hear?”
“Nothing in detail.”
“Good. I’m horrifically tone-deaf.”
“Well, I’m deaf deaf, so feel free to sing all you want.” I walk forward and snag him by the waist, pressing a kiss to his neck as he groans and rocks into me.
“Don’t get me riled up again. I literally have no cum left in my body.”
I laugh, biting his neck before letting him go. “That’s fine. My refresh rate isn’t what yours is. I probably won’t be good until tomorrow night. Also, I’m a little distracted.”
“You found something, didn’t you?” He signs, ‘Wait,’ then turns around to fix the tea. It bothers me I didn’t hear the kettle click off, but I’ll deal with that later.
He adds honey to them both from a jar that tells me he definitely didn’t get it at a store, then sets the cups on the breakfast nook and motions for me to sit.
I take a sip. It’s floral and fresh and immediately soothing. “Thank you.”
He nods. ‘You’re welcome,’ he signs as he drinks. ‘Continue.’
Licking my lips, I glance over my shoulder toward the dining room, where the bin’s still on the chair. “This is going to sound like an interrogation.”
“Sexy,” Leaf says.
I try for a smile. “I wish it was, but I think I might actually be on a case here.”
His expression falls. “Am I in trouble?”
“Whatever happened was years ago. Some of it before you were born, the rest when you were still in diapers. But this is your property, so anything else I do, I’m going to need your permission.”
“You have it,” he says.
“Just like that?”
His eyes lock onto mine. “Thorne, anything I have is yours, okay? If my aunt did something that bad, I want to know. I mean, these missing people, they have families, right?”
“They do.” Most of them probably do. Or should, anyway.
“They deserve some kind of closure. It’s hard to imagine Aunt Lynda killing someone, but I also didn’t know her very well. And she was super weird when I was growing up.”
I tap my fingers on the table, then stand up and snag my phone off the kitchen counter and start up my recording app. “Do I have your permission to record you?”
Leaf nods.
“Aloud, please.”
He shivers, and his eyes darken as he says, “Yes. You have my permission.”
“Please state your name, date of birth, and address.” He shivers again, and I hit Pause. “Are you nervous? I promise it’s going to be okay.”
He groans and throws his head back. “No. I’m horny as fuck. I had no idea I had a thing for you being competent at your job, but it’s making my dick hard.”
I feel heat creep up my neck. “I can take care of that for you after. But I really don’t want to call another agent in on this. Unless…you want that?” I feel a sudden burst of insecurity.