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The room still smelled like them. Like sex, and lust, and a needy desperation.
Jericho stared at the ceiling for a long time, unable to block out the smell, his dick telling him that he was an idiot for not going upstairs. It was no use trying to explain to it that they would have been sleeping, not fucking, if he’d taken Sebastian up on his invitation.
The dog snored in a rhythm, beating drums against his throat.
Were the four men curled around each other? What formation were they sleeping in? Did they sleep naked?
It was a long time before he found slumber.
Chapter Nine
Quinntookonelookat Grady’s face and wondered if it was safer to hide in the break room for the rest of the day. Except Grady had seen him now, and it was too late to make a strategic retreat. “What is it?” he asked, sliding his coffee onto his desk.
“That piece of shit lawyer can suck my dick, that’s what,” Grady growled.
Quinn ran a finger around the ring of his mug as he tried to process that. “I don’t think he wants to?” he said slowly. Grady and Sebastian had animosity between them because they didn’t like each other, not because they did and were hiding sexual tension. There was zero sexual anything there.
Grady also had a boyfriend, which Quinn would have thought would negate him from the beginning. Maybe they needed to have an awkward conversation about not crushing on your partner’s… partner.
“Randall is a smarmy name. And he’s a smarmy dickhead. And I want to push him in front of moving traffic.” He clicked his fingers. “In front of a road train.”
That trajectory made more sense. “I suppose that would get the job done. Did he move our appointment again?” Quinn asked. He took a sip and eyed his paperwork, wondering if he wanted to attempt to open any of it or use the avoidance tactic. Some days it worked. Other days the devil came calling.
“Yeah, to now.”
“To now?” Quinn paused with his mug pressed to his lips. They couldn’t do now. They were due at the prison in two hours, and if they didn’t make it, they could be waiting weeks for a new appointment. The prison system sped up for no man. “Fucking hell.” He tapped his fingers on the hot porcelain. “Okay. New plan.” Because they couldn’t give up this interview opportunity either. Alan Randall, the fucking lawyer who had not only defended the majority of the men that Will and his team had arrested but was also on the list that Jericho had given him. A list of people who were rapidly dropping off their perches. They’d wanted to speak to him already, due to his proximity to the case in the first place, and finding his name on the list had only added to the urgency. However, he’d been giving them the runaround. Had been since the case had started back when Will and Peyton had first slept with Sebastian, and a dead body had been left in their apartment.
“In an hour,” Grady clarified.
That was barely enough time to get into the city, let alone give them any room to manoeuvre in other ways. Quinn lamented the loss of his warm drink as he set it down and grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on. “You go to the prison; I’ll deal with the lawyer.”
“You can’t fuck every lawyer in the city every time we need answers,” Grady said dryly.
Quinn ignored that as he pocketed his keys, wallet, and phone. “Call me when you’re done.” Excluding travel time, Grady’s excursion would take longer than his.
He managed to make it to the lawyer’s firm and find a parking spot in fifty-two minutes, which was a miracle considering that he hadn’t sped or used his sirens. Lady Luck was on his side.
Or not.
“What do you mean, he’s in a meeting?” Quinn asked, staring incredulously at Randall’s assistant, who had an expression on her face that Grady would accurately describe as “smarmy.” Like boss, like assistant, apparently.
“I mean, he’s in a meeting,” she responded snidely. “So he can’t see you.” The “obviously” in her tone was implied. He heard it loud and clear.
“We received a call from you, less than an hour ago, saying that he could see us at nine a.m. It is eight fifty-nine, and I’m here to see him,” he said firmly. He had not driven all the way into the city to be turned away at the goddamn door. Especially not when he could have been on his way to the prison instead and doing something constructive to get this case solved.
“I understand that, but the situation changed, and he was required urgently in this meeting.”
Quinn counted to five in his head. Then another five, just to be sure, because a homicide detective committing homicide was never a good look for the police department.
He was glad he’d taken this half rather than sending Grady. Otherwise, Grady would be taking a different door into the prison. He highly doubted that Randall was in a meeting or that it was that urgent. And Grady’s temper was on a far shorter rope than Quinn’s.
“I just need five minutes of his time,” he said, having to work at not gritting his teeth as he spoke. His pulse throbbed in his neck, and he was acutely aware of the weight of his gun at his hip.
“I’ve created a time for you to see him on Tuesday next week,” she said. “At eleven thirty. Would you like a reminder email?”
What he wanted was to storm through the doors and demand to be seen. This power play was getting on his last nerve. He wasn’t interested in whatever dick-measuring contest this was. “Our original appointment was on Friday.”
“It got filled when you moved to now.”
