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“So you’d have your own personal masseur?”
“Of course.”
The rest of the evening passed in salty, sugary, snuggly bliss.
7
The next day, Gray called one of his street contacts trying to find out the latest word on Billy Andreas. But there wasn’t anything except the usual: you cross him, you die. Nothing about underage sex workers and no one was saying shit about the fact that two women connected to him had been found dead. People were too scared to talk.
Gray was still trying to find a motive. If Andreas had killed these women, or rather, had them killed—it wasn’t likely he’d do his own dirty work—there had to be a reason. Did they cross him? Did they try to leave? Were there more vics the cops didn’t know about? If Andreas had done it, he had to be making a statement. Who was the target audience? By the end of the day, Gray was no closer to an answer and neither was Thornton.
Jack had begged Gray to meet him at Nathan’s after work since Mason was bartending that night. The last thing Gray wanted to do was socialize. There’d be cops and firefighters there who’d want to chat about what was becoming a high-profile case. The Hooker Killer, they were calling it, of all the tacky-as-fuck names. Maybe he could just growl at anyone who came near and scare them away. He had to admit a drink or six sounded good, though. Maybe he’d just have Mason bring him a bottle.
He circled the block a few times, and he was about to abuse the privilege of his police hang tag when he finally found a spot he could stuff his SUV into. When he opened the door of Nathan’s, cloying warmth hit him. The bar was packed. As fucking cold as it was outside, he’d be wanting that crisp, cold air before long.
Jack waved him over to the bar. He was on a stool, but there weren’t any free around him. Then the man next to Jack stood, and Gray realized it was Toby, one of Bryce’s boyfriends.
“I was saving it for you,” he said.
Gray forced himself to smile. “Thanks.”
“Long day?” Toby asked.
“Fuck, yes.”
“Looks like you need a drink and a kiss from your man. Actually, I’m sure you need more than that, but there are decency laws.” He winked. “I’d better get back to Matt.”
“Tell him we said hi,” Jack said.
Gray gave a halfhearted wave. Toby was the one person he knew who needed to be spanked more than Jack.
Mason flashed Gray a smile from the other end of the bar. Once he’d taken care of several other customers, he set a double whiskey on the rocks on the bar. Gray loved that Mason knew exactly what Gray wanted. He was tempted to down it in one go and get an immediate refill. Instead, he took a large sip. He could be a responsible adult for at least a little while longer.
Jack leaned close, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If you need to get trashed, it’s fine. Mason can drive your car home, or we can get it tomorrow.”
Gray sighed. “It will only make tomorrow worse.”
“We’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t want you to have to.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “We don’t have to. We want to. You don’t always have to be the one in control.”
Gray understood that in theory. In practice, not so much.
Before Jack could say more, Huck came over to talk to them. He’d been assigned to be Jack’s partner after Gray became a detective. Jack had been nervous as hell about working with someone new, but Huck had turned out to be perfect: he needed Jack’s experience to guide him, he didn’t give a fuck that Jack was gay, and he got Jack’s sense of humor.
“Did he con you into playing in the tournament?” Huck asked, referring to the basketball fundraiser Jack had helped organize for the youth shelter where he volunteered.
Gray shook his head. “He tried. I’ll be selling tickets.”
“So you’ll see me humiliate myself.”
“That bad, huh?” Gray asked.
Huck nodded. “My team’s going to hate me. How is it that I can pass the firearms test, but I can’t get a ball into a basket?”
Jack laughed. “I’ve wondered that myself.”
