Chapter Eighteen Soft Collapse #2
“Aye. Course.” Jake fumbled with his keys, suddenly very aware of the tension on the narrow landing. “See you around, Brode.”
Brodie tutted, clearly pissed off at being discarded so easily. But what could the bloke expect? Jake hadn’t leaned on him for anything other than a hard fuck and a quick distraction yet. Why did he think it would change now?
The detective stood between him and the stairs, and when Brodie finally stepped forward, he had to squeeze past Harrison’s shoulder. But before Brodie could descend, Harrison turned to him.
“Actually, Mr Marsh, isn’t it?”
Brodie paused halfway down the staircase, one hand on the railing. “Aye. Brodie.”
Jake frowned. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard a different surname attached to Brodie, but giving one to the police seemed odd.
“I have a few questions for you as well. Could I stop by your flat later?” Harrison pulled out a notebook and flipped it open. “If you’d be so kind as to let me have your address.”
“I’ll be at work.”
Jake glanced over his shoulder at him. “You don’t work Mondays.”
Brodie shrugged. “Extra shift. We’re down a barmaid, remember?”
Jake winced. Course. Emily. And Claire still hadn’t come back since the night Emily vanished. Brodie was clearly picking up the fallout.
“I’ll stop by the pub then,” Harrison said.
Brodie nodded, but before he turned away, he trailed his gaze slowly up and down Harrison’s frame.
Deliberate. Assessing. Almost mocking. The way he would in a nightclub when another bloke was muscling in on his territory.
Then he descended the stairs, the metal steps ringing hollow as he disappeared into the alley below.
“What d’you want to talk to Brodie for?” Jake fought the key into the rusty lock. “Pretty sure that ain’t his surname, by the way.”
“Oh?”
“He gives fake names sometimes.” Jake shouldered the door open.
“Why?”
Jake glanced back at him. “You ever been out?”
Harrison said nothing.
Jake snorted.
Course he hadn’t. Or not out out. Not the sort of nights Jake knew. Dark corners. Back rooms. Someone else’s flat. Names exchanged because it was polite rather than because he intended to remember it.
“Makes things easier.”
“For what?”
Jake stopped in the doorway and looked at him. “Are you actually this innocent, or are you taking the piss?”
Harrison breathed a smile. “Wouldn’t that normally involve giving you a different first name?”
Jake leaned back against the open door. “Depends how much you don’t want someone finding you afterwards.”
“After what?”
Now Harrison was definitely fucking with him.
Jake let his gaze travel slowly over him.
Coat. Shirt. Tie. That maddeningly composed face.
There was something different about him tonight.
Jake couldn’t put his finger on it, but he could feel it.
Harrison wasn’t retreating. Wasn’t throwing up one of those careful professional walls the second things strayed somewhere personal. He was standing there waiting.
Almost daring him.
Fine.
Jake dropped his voice and gave him exactly what he’d asked for. “After you fuck them.”
No grin. No joke to soften it. He let the words sit between them while he looked Harrison straight in the eye.
Harrison drew a breath.
Jake fucking saw that. The tiny shift beneath all that control before Harrison got hold of it again.
“What’s his real name then?” Harrison asked.
Jake shrugged. “No idea.”
Harrison looked away. “I see.”
Right. Shit. Bollocks.
Because there it was again. Another little glimpse into the parts of Jake’s life Harrison probably couldn’t begin to understand.
Men whose surnames he didn’t know. Sometimes first names he didn’t know either.
Sex that happened because both of them wanted it and ended without anyone pretending it had been more than that.
Normally, Jake didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about it. So why the fuck did he suddenly want to explain himself? That it weren’t like he collected conquests. That he didn’t treat people like they were disposable. Sometimes sex was just sex. Easy. Mutual. No promises made, none broken.
Nothing wrong with that.
There had never been anything wrong with that.
Except Harrison was looking at him again, and for one stretched-out second Jake had the ridiculous urge to make sure he knew it too.
Then Harrison’s expression settled back into something more professional. “I need to ask Brodie a few more questions about when he served Andy on Wednesday.”
And there went the fucking door.
Jake stepped aside his real one and gestured Harrison in.
Brodie had offered him easy tonight. Jake had turned him down without a second thought.
And now Harrison Black was standing on the threshold of his flat, looking at Jake’s mouth while pretending they were discussing witness enquiries.
Apparently, Jake had found something considerably more interesting than easy.
“Can’t believe the prick served him.”
“Hm.” Harrison stepped further inside, and Jake immediately regretted it when Harrison took in the filth.
“Sorry about the mess.” Jake tossed his keys onto the kitchenette counter and kicked a pile of clothes out of the middle of the floor with the side of his boot.
Then he darted across the room to grab the cereal bowl abandoned beside the unmade mattress on the floor and the two mugs of stale coffee he’d left sitting there since God knew when.
His mum would berate him for that. And Robyn: “can’t start your day with a messy bed”.
So Jake yanked the duvet up, dragging it over the worst of the rumpled sheets before straightening again.
Jesus Christ.
He was an absolute fucking slob.
And DI Harrison Black, a man composed and clean and the epitome of put-together, stood inside the door, taking it all in.
To be fair, there wasn’t much space for him to go anywhere else.
The drum kit took up half the room, cymbals glinting in the weak lamplight.
The mattress claimed most of the rest. Between the kitchenette counter, the amp shoved against the wall, and the narrow strip of carpet left between everything, the place barely had enough floor space for one man—never mind two.
Unless they got very, very close.
Not much of a problem. But he supposed if this were official business, he should offer the man a brew.
Jake jerked a thumb at the kitchen. “Do you… er, want a drink?”
“No, that’s fine.” Harrison slipped his hands into his coat pockets. “I’ve had enough coffee to keep me awake until the end of the century.”
Jake nodded, then slapped his palms against the back of his work trousers, sending more dust into the atmosphere, unsure what to do with himself.
“I sent PC Murray to speak with your parents as their family liaison officer. But…” Harrison met his gaze. “You said you’d prefer me.”
Something shifted low in Jake’s stomach at the way he said that. Probably because prefer sounded dangerously close to something else.
“Aye.” Jake wet his lips. “I want you.”
Fuck.
He heard it the second it left his mouth, but it was too late to yank the words back.
Not that he was embarrassed by them. That was the weird part.
Jake had never been shy about wanting a man.
If he fancied someone, he fancied them. Usually made sure they knew it too.
No point pissing about pretending otherwise when he could be naked in half an hour.
But this wasn’t some bloke across a bar.
This was Harrison.
And I want you had come out sounding nothing like a chat-up line and far more vulnerable than he’d meant.
Jake could’ve laughed it off. Made some filthy comment, turning it into the sort of thing he knew how to handle. Instead, he left it sitting there between them, because some reckless part of him wanted to know what Harrison would do with it.
Harrison held his gaze a beat too long, then whatever had been there disappeared behind the familiar control of DI Black. “We still have Andy in custody.”
“Right.”
“But I’ve got a limited window. Under PACE, I can hold him while we’re conducting enquiries, but unless I can justify a charge, he walks.”
Jake chewed his lip. “How long?”
“Not long enough.” Harrison sighed. “A few more hours. After that, I either charge him with something I can evidence… or release him pending further investigation.”
“And you don’t have evidence?”
“Not enough.” Harrison shook his head. “We’ve got officers searching his place. Computer seized. Forensics are going through everything. But that takes time, and custody clocks don’t care about that.”
Jake leaned his hip against the counter, folding his arms. “So he could walk free?”
“He could.”
“And he’s denying it, I take it?”
“Yes. He claims to know nothing.”
Jake snorted. “Course he does.”
“The thing is, he also…” Harrison paused, as if testing which words were least likely to cause another outburst. “Raised a number of allegations during interview.”
Jake frowned. “What sort of allegations?”
“That you could be involved.”
Jake stared at him. “How the fuck am I involved?”
“He claims you abducted Emily to frame him. Prove yourself right about him.”
An uncredulous breath of laughter burst out of Jake. “You’re serious?”
“He is.”
“You know where I were. I weren’t anywhere near her.”
“We’re still cross-checking your alibi.”
Fucking hell.
The bloke in the Nirvana T-shirt.
Jesus Christ.
Jake scraped a hand through his hair. “You can’t believe him.”
“It’s not about whether I believe him. He’s made the allegation on record, so we have to deal with it.” Harrison drew a breath. “But that wasn’t all he said.”
Something in his tone made Jake’s stomach tighten.
“He also made a number of claims about Robyn. And your family.”
Jake went very still.
Then he gritted his teeth, curling his hands into fists. “Did he tell you my dad abused Robyn? That he’s Teddy’s real father? That I murdered my sister to cover up some scandal that could end my career?”
Harrison’s expression remained stoic. “Yes.”
Jake held out his hands, gesturing at the dingy bedsit. “Look around, Detective. Whatever I had going for me died with her.”