“Or,” Carter said, “we can find the person who attacked us, and that person can lead us to the copycat or to Dr. Fear.”
Lincoln was already nodding. “The café, tomorrow morning. The attacker won’t be able to hide the signs of that altercation. They’ll either be there or someone who saw them will be.”
Another idea was forming, but Lincoln wouldn’t like it one bit. Would probably hate Carter for it, but it was the best, fastest way to a break in this case. Even if it would destroy any possibility of going back to that moment of a few minutes ago when eight years of longing had nearly been erased.
Carter swiped the eraser over the board. “Except tomorrow is Sunday. That’s not where everyone in town will be.”
Lincoln understood immediately, his eyes narrowing and the tips of his ears reddening with anger. “Oh, no. We’re not having this argument again.”
“Where’s that, Agent Warren?” Beverley asked.
Lincoln lunged for the phone, but Carter snatched it first and held it out of his reach. “The local church, and they’re down an accompanist.”
“That’s perfect, L,” Kirk said. “You can play?—”
“Not another damn word, Ollie.”
Their byplay didn’t matter. Beverley was sold. “Good. Report back when you know something. In the meantime, I’ll get you some backup. I’ll email you the details.”
The line went dead, and Carter thought he might be too any second, judging by the murderous glare in his partner’s eyes.
“You asshole,” Lincoln seethed. “You set me up.”
Carter held the phone out to him. “Whatever it takes. Your words.”
Lincoln snatched the device. “Except you didn’t give me a choice.” He turned on his heel and marched toward the primary without a backward glance.
Carter filled his glass with another shot of tequila and toasted to a long, dark future of wanting something—someone—he’d still never have.
Ten
Lincoln stepped into the church and didn’t immediately burst into flames. He supposed the near death by fire last night must have counted for something.
“The tips of your hair aren’t ablaze,” Carter said, as if reading his mind.
“The amount of product in yours, you’d be first.”
Truth be told, Carter looked like a movie star this morning, eyes bright and skin tan with a sharp suit on and his curls slicked back, ready for some red-carpet occasion. Or rather, white carpet in this case. All of which made Lincoln extra snippy. He was supposed to be pissed at Carter, not lusting after him. Which only reminded Lincoln of the private problem he’d had to deal with in the shower earlier. After a restless four hours of sleep haunted by dreams of near-kisses and where those near-misses might have led, he’d woken up hard as a rock. And while relief in the shower had solved the physical issue, it hadn’t solved the emotional one—in which he both loathed and lusted after his partner. If, as a result, he’d been a little harsh on Carter this morning about picking up all the shit he’d left strewn around the house, it couldn’t be helped.
Carter smirked, as if he knew about the ongoing war between Lincoln’s head and dick. Lincoln lifted a hand to flip him off, and Carter muffed it before Lincoln could extend his middle finger. “Church,” he chided.
“Fuck—”
Lincoln was cut off by the plague of locusts descending. “Carter! Lincoln!” Susanne greeted them. “What a surprise!”
“We didn’t expect you,” Jennifer said, “especially after last night. The whole town is talking about it.”
“Especially after that,” Carter said, “this was the place we needed to be.”
Lincoln squeezed his hand. Hard. Then instantly regretted it, Carter’s wince and the scratchiness of his bandaged hand reminding Lincoln of his roughed-up knuckles. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Carter said through a grimace.
Lincoln skated his thumb over Carter’s knuckles, apologizing with actions as well as his words, hoping together they’d be more believable. He’d been such a grump this morning, he couldn’t blame Carter if he didn’t.
Green eyes flickered to him, a gentleness there Lincoln didn’t deserve. Hand still in his, Carter stepped behind him and looped an arm around his front, pulling him back against his chest.
“How are you two?” Lydia asked, joining her friends.
