Chapter 1
Ethan
Current day
“No,” Ethan said firmly. But, fuck, it was too late. He’d foolishly admitted to having no plans for the upcoming three-day weekend. He may have even said something about being on his own, as usual. Or maybe it had been about how he was again practicing being the fifth wheel.
It was tiring always being the fifth wheel, which was why he generally turned down group invitations. He needed to remember to lead with “no” and leave the rest unsaid.
“Come on…” Ryder wheedled, his grin bright and irritating.
“No.”
“Pffftt, it will be fun! And who is a more perfect fit for a mystery dinner weekend than a forensic anthropologist? Come on. It’s paid for and too late for a refund of any kind. You wouldn’t want my hard-earned money to go to waste, would you?”
“Ryder…”
“Ethan. I promise, it’ll be fun. Shay and I really wanted to do it, but it turns out we can’t.”
“Why can’t you?” Ethan was extremely suspicious when it came to Ryder Mann in general, and him having tickets to an event and suddenly not being able to attend was a giant red flag.
“Shay has a trial and has to be in Portland doing lawyer stuff over the weekend.”
Well, he supposed that could be for real.
“What’s your excuse?” Ethan asked, still not convinced.
Ryder sighed. “I dunno, but Kimball wants me in the Cali office, so it must be something big.”
“I haven’t heard anything about something big.”
“Whatever it is must not involve moldy old skeletons, then. Sucks to be you, Bone Boy. Kimball likes me for my brain.” Ryder waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Gross,” Ethan groaned, and ran a hand down his face. He could feel defeat looming.
“And you owe me a favor,” Ryder reminded him. Again.
Fuck. He did owe Ryder. Which, apparently, he was going to regret it for the rest of his life.
One little semi-legal personal search request on a private citizen and he’d sold his soul to the damn devil.
An irritating and charming devil who happened to work for the same organization Ethan did, West Coast Forensics.
And it sucked to be Ethan, who’d wanted a little more information than what he’d gleaned from the Rate My Professor website.
But maybe if he did this, Ryder would accept the debt as paid.
“It’s only a murder dinner,” Ryder pointed out. “Okay, a murder weekend. But still, it’s not like you’re having dental surgery, and it’s definitely better than jury duty. Three nights and two days, and on Monday, we’ll be even Steven.”
“Who says stuff like even Steven?” Ethan glared at his coworker and WCF’s part-time evil conspirator and then caved. “Fine, what do I have to do?”
Ryder shot him a grin and pumped his fist. “Yes!”
For his part, Ethan sighed.
“If there’s a callout, I’ll have to cancel,” he warned Ryder.
As if there was ever an emergency for a forensic anthropologist. Maybe if a site was about to be destroyed by an army of bulldozers or torrential rains, but usually the objects of Ethan’s attention could wait it out until he got to them.
“There won’t be a callout,” Ryder assured him. “Oh, and the Saturday night dinner is black tie. I’m telling you this because I know you won’t read the fine print.”
Ethan groaned, tempted to bang his head against his desk, while Ryder cackled.