Chapter 8
EIGHT
Chris
Chris’s eyes popped open. Slowly, the speckled popcorn ceiling of Frank-the-Neighbor’s bedroom came into focus, and for a millisecond, he wondered if the night before had been a wild dream. First, the surprise that was Ivan Morrison, and then later, a house of horrors.
No, the contents of the house had not been a dream. He could still smell them. The odd scent lingered uninvited, making him want to take another shower.
And then there was Ivan.
Maybe his mom had slipped some love potion into their drinks. But no, even if Chris believed a potion might work—which he did not—his parents would never do something like that.
Therefore, last night had really happened. He and Ivan Morrison had made out and slept in the same bed. The soft shuffle and shift of the warm body turning over and pressing up next to him in the bed reinforced his conclusion. He and Ivan had “slept together.” Been intimate.
It had been a lack of supplies that slowed them down—which Chris was thankful for this morning. He wasn’t afraid to admit he wanted Ivan in the most carnal of ways, but he wanted to be sober.
Swiping his hand down his face, Chris blinked himself awake. The familiar morning stubble on his cheeks scraped against his palm and helped him to think, to focus.
Ivan Morrison had happened.
He ran through a mental checklist: Panic, no. Regret, no. Slept? Yes.
Maybe it hadn’t been a terrible idea to give in to their mutual attraction, but they were going to have to sort out the boss-employee issue.
Almost-sex had been followed by the sound of gunshots, the discovery of an open front door, and a freakish collection of something . But they’d found no body and no evidence of foul play. After they’d not exactly broken into the neighbor’s, Ivan had insisted on cruising around again once they’d left the house. They hadn’t found anything. Not a motor-trike in sight.
Another thought struck him. Would Ivan worry that it had been the drinks that Susie had handed out like Halloween candy which had led to Chris giving in to their chemistry? Hopefully not. The reality was, they’d been orbiting each other for a while now. Ever since Morrison had, quite literally, exploded into Chris’s universe. And, recognizing temptation for what it was, Chris had immediately slammed all his mental and emotional doors against Ivan.
Besides, they’d worked together.
Chris would be the first to admit he’d done everything possible to not see Ivan, even going so far as to convince himself he was in love with Dante Castone. Chris did believe he and Dante could’ve been good together—if they both weren’t so damned stubborn, and if Andre hadn’t gotten there first.
It had been too easy for Chris to imagine that he and the ex-undercover agent had a connection that was more than friendship. Which in turn had made it easy to avoid any real relationships because Dante was rarely around and Chris was his boss. It made everything so much easier.
Ivan was not easy. He was not simple and malleable. Dante wasn’t either, but Chris had to be honest with himself finally; he hadn’t been in love with Dante at all, he’d just been avoiding…Ivan.
Chris had known he was in trouble last winter when he’d come down with a nasty bout of the flu. Ivan had shown up at his house with a gallon of Tom Yum soup and steamed dumplings, then proceeded to make him drink fluids and eat until he could function again. The house had felt empty after he’d left.
“Did last night really happen?” Ivan’s deep voice was raspy from sleep. “We broke the seal and then stumbled upon the downright weirdest fucking art I have ever seen in my life?”
“Broke the seal?” Chris, of course, immediately focused on Ivan’s choice of words.
Ivan rolled over onto his side, his lips curved into a smug grin.
“You know exactly what I mean… boss.”
“Oh my god. No. I can’t be your boss anymore.”
“Meh, don’t get all worked up. I told you I’m transferring to what’s his name—Madison’s—team.”
“You mean Radisson? Also, no, you didn’t say anything, I would not have forgotten.”
“Oh. Huh. Sorry about that. The transfer is fairly simple since we’re in the same jurisdiction, and it’s not like I haven’t worked on feeb teams in the past. But, yeah, Andrew Radisson, FBI guy, that’s right. Good guy. It’s all good. Everything is very good. Should be done by the time we get back.”
Clearly, Ivan was not at all worried that either of them might have been influenced by an outside force known as vodka lemonade.
“Frankly, Andy has no idea what he’s getting into with you,” Chris said thoughtfully, amused by Ivan’s deflection—he knew Radisson’s name as well as he knew his own.
“He’s not getting into anything with me. That’s your job now.” It was possible that Ivan’s grin grew even wider.
“Is that so? Is that why we’re ‘getting a place together’ when we get back? I still can’t believe you said that to my parents.”
“Your place is alright. But I think between the two of us, we could find something better. When you’re ready.”
Chris rolled his eyes and laughed. “I’m just supposed to go from being a hard-hearted bachelor to?—”
“To mine.” Ivan pointed a thick finger at his own chest. The chest Chris very much enjoyed while running his fingers through Ivan’s silky chest hair. “Zero to sixty, baby.”
He let that roll around in his head for a minute. Was he panicked? No. Huh . After all, his parents had, as they’d told Ivan, met at a Grateful Dead show and rarely been apart since. Maybe it was his DNA.
“Ugh, my parents.” Chris sighed, sinking further back onto his pillow. One voice in his head whispered, This is too soon, it’s not real , while another, louder voice reminded him that he and Ivan had known each other for literal years, so it was not too soon at all.
Calm the fuck down, son.
“What about your folks?” Ivan asked.
“My parents will be happy.” Chris knew he sounded like this was tragic news. They already were happy about Ivan.
“Wouldn’t want that now, would we? Your parents being happy for you. What a fucking tragedy,” Ivan teased.
Chris knew from past conversations that Ivan’s parents hadn’t spoken to him since he came out. They would never be happy for him. They had no idea how incredible their son was. Chris hated them.
“Fuck off,” he retorted mildly. “You know it’s not that.”
“Joy is not a bad thing,” Ivan pointed out. “Are you allergic to being happy? Before you answer, remember I saw every single picture of you that your mom has in her possession last night.”
“No, I’m not allergic to being happy.” He stared up at the ceiling again. “I guess it was hard growing up with them… being happy all the time. Knowing that no way was I ever going to be as happy as they were.”
“Ah, so you’re a glass-is-half-empty-and-about-to-be-knocked-over guy? I already knew that about you. And also—” Ivan lifted himself up onto his forearms, leaned over, and claimed Chris’s mouth for his own for a moment before saying, “I make you happy.”
Chris had a response for that, but Ivan quickly covered his mouth with his large hand, making it impossible to speak.
“Mmph.”
“Don’t say whatever you want to say. We’ll just get ourselves up, head over to your folks for the breakfast we were promised, then see where the day takes us. Okay? We don’t need to set a damn wedding date or whatever else is on your mind. We’ll just be Chris and Ivan. Hatch and Morrison.”
Chris nodded and Ivan took his hand away.
“Oxygen deprivation is not really the way to woo someone.”
“Oh,” Ivan said. “Really? Hmm.” He swung his legs off the bed. “Coffee? You do have that here, don’t you? Even I don’t think I can face Susie and Lance without a cup of the holy brew.”
He was only wearing boxers, and since he was mostly naked, Chris took the time to appreciate the wonder that was Ivan. Solid. Unmovable. And yet he could move damn quickly when he needed to apprehend a perp or keep a random toddler from dashing off the sidewalk. His broad and hair-covered chest had a few scars here and there, and a tattoo of?—
“Is that from The Lion King ?” This was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the normally covered-up ink.
Ivan looked down at his pec. “It’s the warthog. I have an affinity for warthogs. They just don’t get enough appreciation. They’re fierce, cute, a little chubby, and have those little tails. But seriously, is there coffee?” he asked while rummaging in his duffle bag to find a clean t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts.
“Yes,” Chris said after watching him for a minute, “there’s a bag of pre-ground in the freezer. Hang on.”
Ivan’s shorts were on already and the shirt was halfway over his head. He pulled the shirt all the way down and his head popped through the neck opening like a goofy jack-in-the-box.
“Take your time, I’ll get the coffee going.” Ivan shot him a brilliant smile that left Chris a bit breathless.
He didn’t want to take his time. He had an unreasonable fear that if he left Ivan on his own, he would disappear. Or prove to have been a figment of Chris’s imagination. Or worse, that Chris would somehow ruin everything, whatever this everything was. Taking a deep breath, he tamped down his anxiety with breathing exercises. When he felt slightly better, Chris rolled out of bed, got out a clean pair of shorts and an old DEA training t-shirt, and made his way into the kitchen.
“Good morning, you two!” Susie sang out.
Chris never could fully comprehend how his mom seemed to defy all medical science by never appearing to be hungover. His dad was definitely moving a little slower this morning but perked up when he saw Chris and Ivan.
“Morning, son. Ivan. Have a seat. Actually,” Lance said, swiveling toward the side door, “let’s sit out back. This kitchen is too small for all four of us, and the dining room table is reserved for the puzzle of the month.” Rising to his feet, Lance led the way to the kitchen door and the patio.
“Lance, take the orange juice out with you. I’ll bring the coffee, I think I have a carafe around here somewhere.”
“Let me help carry something, Susie.” Ivan offered.
“Aren’t you a darling.” His mom opened one of the upper cupboards and pointed to the top shelf, where a large silver thermos sat. “Grab that and we’ll fill it up. Coffee cups are over there. I’ve got a frittata in the oven that will be done in just a few minutes.”
Following his dad out to the patio, Chris couldn’t help but smile. His mom had been watching Frank-the-Neighbor’s door and put the frittata in to cook as soon as she saw them step outside.
“Have a seat,” Lance said, setting the glass pitcher down on the patio table. “OJ?”
“Sure.”
Orange juice had always been part of his parents’ breakfast routine; every morning growing up, Chris had started the day with a glass of orange juice. Probably, Susie had thought it might improve his mood. It had not.
The back door opened again, and Ivan emerged, carrying the large flask in one hand and four mugs in the other. “Coffee, anyone?” he called out in a jovial tone.
Chris felt himself smile. Coffee, on the other hand, cheered him right up—or maybe it was the Ivan Morrison Effect.
Affect? Whatever.
Setting the thermos and mugs down, Ivan proceeded to fill them one by one. “You should take the first one,” he said to Chris. “I know it always takes you two or three cups to start your morning where a normal person does.”
“Ha fucking ha,” said Chris as he proceeded to snatch the first cup out of his dad’s reach.
“Mr. Hatch, I apologize for your son’s manners.”
Sitting back in his chair, Lance chuckled. “Chris has great manners. But you’re right about the coffee.”
Ivan moved one of the chairs closer to Chris’s and sat down next to him, stretching his legs out as far as he could underneath the table.
“Are you comfortable yet?” Chris asked.
Ivan smiled and bumped his shoulder against Chris’s. “Yes.”
“Did you two sleep all right over there?” Lance asked.
Before Chris could think of anything to say, Ivan’s large palm landed on his thigh and squeezed.
“Yep. It’s not the bed I’m used to at home, but it will do for a few days.”
“What do you two have planned for the day? Anything?”
“I want to see the Grand Canyon while I’m here—could we do that tomorrow? Chris and I have some business to look into this morning.”
“Great idea! We have a pass,” Lance said, “and of course we don’t go as often as we should.”
“Do you know the person who lives at the place around the corner from you?”
“The one sort of across from Frank’s?” Lance asked.
“Yes, the place with the fat Buddha statue in the front yard,” Ivan elaborated.
“Oh.” Lance’s eyebrows drew together. “ That place . Supposedly, the owner travels a lot, so I’ve never officially met him, only seen him from afar a few times. Susie might have. He has an odd name, I remember that.”
The back door opened again, and Ivan hopped up to take the casserole from Susie.
“I’ll be right back with the plates. Don’t talk about anything else without me!”
Exchanging smiles, they all obeyed the directive, sitting quietly in the Arizona sunshine for a minute and sipping at their coffee. The next time Susie came bustling outside, she carried a stack of plastic plates, forks, and napkins.
“Okay,” she said, setting down everything and plopping down next to her husband. “Continue. What were you talking about?”
“Ivan wants to visit the canyon, but he also asked about Frank’s neighbor. Clive?”
“Cleevus, Cleevus Buckley. Here you go, Ivan.” She handed him a spatula. “Help yourself and pass it along.”
Chris watched Ivan take a tiny serving and set it on his plate before holding the dish out to him.
“Take more than that,” he said quietly. “Mom is going to be pissed if you pass out from hunger. No reason to be shy here, it’s not like I don’t know what it takes to keep that engine going.”
Ivan glared at him. “I’ll have you know, I am being polite. You have heard of this practice?”
“Fine, have it your way.” Chris took a huge spoonful and put it on his own plate. If there was any left, Ivan could have it. Maybe he’d been taught to take a small first serving so everyone got some, but from what little Chris knew about his family, he doubted that was the case.
It seemed more likely that it had been every person for themselves at the Morrison kitchen table. It had never occurred to Chris that Morrison might have food issues. He wondered if he’d been food-shamed as a child. Another wash of anger at the way Morrison had been treated growing up rushed through him, and Chris had to take a gulp of hot coffee to wash it back down.
“You okay?” Ivan asked.
“Hunky dory. Let’s talk about the neighbor some more. I’m sure that doesn’t happen much around here. You all mind your own business and pay no attention to what’s going on. Am I right, Mom?”
“Christopher,” Susie said, her eyebrows drawing together, “of course we don’t mind our own business. What do you want to know about Cleevus?”
Between the two of them, Ivan and Chris shared what had happened the night before. Not everything —Chris would have rather stuck needles in his eye than talk personal details with his parents. But they told them about the noise and finding the door unlocked.
“It was ajar,” explained Ivan, “or we never would’ve gone inside. Like a wellness check kind of thing.”
“Right,” Chris said, even though they had no authority in Arizona. “A wellness check.”
“Good,” said Susie. “Finding someone dead would be horrible. Although those creatures must have given you a scare.”
Ivan and Chris exchanged a glance and eyebrow raises—as if between Chris and Ivan, they hadn’t seen many dead bodies and caused some of them too.
“No dead bodies,” Ivan continued. “But aside from the taxidermy, there was a lot of terracotta stuff. Also a plaster leg.”
“Oh, well, those aren’t weird. Frank’s neighbor sells the pots and ‘art’ at some of the local markets,” Susie said. “I think he goes around and buys things from garage sales and estates, calls himself a picker. Like on that show, American Pickers . Most of it’s crap.”
“He’s not selling any inventory he left behind. Have you seen him in a while?” Chris asked his mom.
Thinking for a minute, Susie washed down her bite of frittata with a swig of orange juice.
“We haven’t seen him recently, have we, Lance? But so many people here are snowbirds, they’re in and out all the time.”
Lance was nodding. “I don’t think we have seen him. Honestly, I don’t know if I could tell you what he looks like other than he’s white, average height, probably in his late sixties or early seventies, but with being in the sun a lot, he could be younger. Not under fifty, of course. Dark-haired once, but now more salt than pepper.”
Trust his dad “not to know what someone looked like” and still provide an excellent description of them.
“Is he friendly with anyone here?” Ivan asked.
His parents both shook their heads and shrugged. “I can’t say,” Susie replied. “But you could ask at the clubhouse.”
“We could also ask around at the market in the town center. I think he has a booth there,” offered Lance.
Oh, great. Lance Hatch, retired city librarian, was on the case. And worse, his dad’s keen instincts were sending Chris and Ivan to a shopping area infested with people.
“Thanks for the tip, Dad,” Chris said, meaning it, “but just Ivan and I will head over there to ask questions.”