Shattered Glass(69)

At least three other detectives were probably slogging through the evidence on this case. Marco and Del were following the trail to their killer, while Luis and I were following it to our missing passport owners. It seemed the week and a half we’d been working on it, this case had tripled in value.

“I heard about your brother, Pete,” Dave said. “How’s he holding up?”

Peter shrugged. I read his intense concentration on the TV as he didn’t want to talk about it. I winced at his flat-eyed stare, identifying it as his prelude to sarcasm. “Great. They locked him up with a guy who lit his parents on fire and watched them scream while they tried to get out of the garage. It’s a great learning experience for Cai, who last month cried for two hours when a bird hit his window and died.”

Dave stared for a beat, took a long gulp of his Guinness and turned to me, “So," he coughed, "you’re gay.”

Three fingers rubbing against my temple didn’t ease the pain that shot through my skull. I jabbed the ‘print’ button and went to retrieve the sheets from my office, not caring if Peter and Dave sat in awkward silence, or killed each other.

When I returned a half hour later with the print outs, Darryl was sitting in my spot, his skinny jeans-clad thigh pressing against Peter’s. What infuriated me most was not that Peter had invited someone to my house, or even that Darryl was sitting in my place. Nor was it that Peter was sitting on the sofa next to Darryl. What enraged me was my reaction to Darryl’s hand casually resting on Peter’s knee: Fury.

The heat of my own anger unbalanced me. It buzzed through my veins like a swarm of hungry red ants. My skin crawled with it. I had no right, no reason, to feel jealousy. I’d known him what, a week? We weren’t boyfriends. We hadn’t even fucked.

“Christ,” I muttered, shoving those feelings deep, deep, deep down into the pockets of my soul. I determined to bury them further down than the memories of Jesse had been.

“Darryl,” I greeted, taking Peter’s old seat on the recliner. I tossed papers on the coffee table and shoved them across to Dave.

“Hello, pretty little detective.” Darryl smiled devilishly, green eyes managing innocence and sin as he stroked Peter’s thigh and stared at me. Peter, leaning over to take some of the paperwork, was either oblivious or indifferent to the touch. My eyes were fastened to Darryl’s fingers.

Before I could remember my gun was in Captain Ashanafi’s desk, Dave grabbed a few of the pages and, like Peter, began looking through them. “What are we looking for here?” he asked.

Grateful for the pull away from Darryl and Peter, I leaned forward and flipped my laptop so I could see it side by side with Luis’s. “Clues to who owns these businesses. Forensics is still—” Darryl’s fingers twitched up Peter’s thigh. My eye ticked. “Why are you here?” I was too riveted by his hand touching Peter to give Darryl the glare he deserved. A dim voice in the back of my head said, ‘touching what’s mine’. I tried to smother, stuff and toss the voice away.

“He brought me clothes for court,” Peter answered for him, brows drawn inward with confusion. He followed my gaze down, eyes bouncing back up. I’d never seen him grin so quickly.

I tried to reason why that would require Darryl being here. In my house. When no explanation was delivered, I asked, “Why didn’t you go to him?”

“Isn’t it easier if we all drive there?”

“All? All of who?” I asked, not wanting to hear the obvious answer.

“Us.” Peter swept a hand among Darryl, me and himself.

“Why would the three of us be going to listen to Cai’s bond hearing? I did my part.”

“Moral support?” Dave threw in with a blink of interest. I’d respond to that if I didn’t think he was being completely facetious.

Bastard.

“I can’t pay his bond,” Peter said quietly.

Darryl, throughout this back-and-forth exchange, stroked Peter’s thigh and glared at me. I smothered a possessive growl. “That’s not my prob— Is there a reason you need to molest him?”

“It’s called being compassionate, prettyboy. Did you want me to just call him a whore and ignore that he’s hurting? Or maybe you’d like me to leave you alone with him so you can take advantage—”

“Stop it, Dare,” Peter said, not harshly enough to please me. “His lawyer says bond is going be like a million dollars or more. If he gets it at all. I can’t put up the restaurant as collateral because it’s going to be under investigation now. Our house isn’t worth more than a hundred thousand, if that.”