Page 36 of Sigh of Relief

“SOS from Ezra.” He yanked his phone out and silenced the alarm, but whatever he read on the screen chased away all the color in his face.

“What is it?”

Archer handed him the phone on the way to his feet, and Elton read the four-digit text.

1023.

Police on scene.

He scrambled to his feet, hustling to get dressed as fast as Archer, who was already halfway to the door in his pants and shoes. Elton caught up in his pants, shoes, and unbuttoned dress shirt, and they ran up the pathway to the main house, cresting the hill just as the police cruiser killed its flashing lights, two officers climbing out of the car.

Elton grabbed Archer’s wrist and diverted him toward the patio. “We can’t rush up behind them,” he said. “That’s how one of us gets shot.”

Him, mostly likely, as a Black man and as the larger of the two. But mostly the first.

Maybe that’s what Archer realized too, not arguing in the slightest.

They entered the kitchen through the same patio door Noah had used earlier, and immediately, Elton could see from clear across the adjacent living room that the typically cool, calm chef was about two seconds from exploding. His massive frame was puffed up and filling the doorway, partially blocking—and protecting—Ezra from whomever was on the other side. In the living room, Rocky and James were calmly directing others toward the kitchen and out of view.

Like they’d been through this before.

“Officer Chakkut?” Archer asked them, like he’d been through this before too.

“Who else?” Rocky said with enough indignation to strip the paint off the walls.

Voices at the door grew louder, and Elton tugged Archer forward.

Until Archer tugged back.

Elton whipped his head around. “We need⁠—”

“You don’t have to do this. He’s a local cop. We can handle him.”

“You shouldn’t have too.” Elton expected the fear that had kept him in the closet for half his life—and felt none of it. Only his usual confidence plus an extra boost courtesy of Archer Scott. “You’re on Ezra,” he said, moving them forward again. “I’ve got Noah.”

They approached carefully, Elton shuffling his feet and clearing his throat, making his presence known before laying a hand on Noah’s shoulder and shifting him enough to see the two officers on the other side of the threshold. “Is there a problem, officers?”

The uniformed one standing in front, a beanpole of a white man, barely spared him a glance. “We’ve had a complaint that this place is operating as a brothel.”

“A brothel?”

He finally deigned to look at him, and the chin-lifted glare was the textbook definition of haughty. “I can provide the legal definition.”

“I don’t need it.” He dug in his pocket for his keys and squeezed Noah’s shoulder, waiting for the big man’s gray eyes to swing toward him. “Can you go get my work wallet out of the Defender?” He waited for Noah’s nod, his understanding, then handed him the keys. “It’s in the glove compartment.”

Noah closed his fist around the keys, his protective instincts channeled for purpose, then shoved past Chakkut and the other uniformed man behind him, both officers tracking his movements.

Until Elton stepped into his place over the threshold and folded his arms, nearly as large a figure as Noah. “While people do live here, it is not kept for the purpose of prostitution. And no one here is exchanging sexual acts for compensation.”

Chakkut’s brows rose. “You know the law?”

“Why would you think I didn’t? Because I’m Black, or because I’m queer, or because my boyfriend and I are kinky?” Chakkut wrinkled his nose, and Elton figured it was both racism and homophobia that made him look like he was smelling shit. He wasn’t going to like what else Elton had to say. “This is a party where adults are having a good time while having consensual sexual relations, none of them for money.”

Archer moved to his side and slid a hand into the groove at his lower back, claiming him for all the world, including Chakkut, to see. “Who reported us?”

“We don’t have to tell you that,” the other officer replied.

“Let me guess,” Ezra said from Archer’s other side. “Thompson or Hughes?”