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Jem gave him the bird again. “And you checked out the sanctuary; you said it’s legit.”
“I suppose he could have bribed the inspectors,” Tean said. “I don’t know. There are a lot of possibilities. But it does seem strange, them showing up there.”
“At this point,” John-Henry said, “we’re not going to eliminate any possibilities. Someone is still trying to cover their tracks. That’s got to be why the killer targeted Una tonight. We’ve got to move fast before we lose our shot at this.”
“Meanwhile Jonas is pulling his pud in the station house,” Emery grumbled. “This is technically a vacation, John. This is supposed to be my Father’s Day present.”
“Then you can stay and attend the panels tomorrow.”
Amber eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind?”
With a quiet laugh, John-Henry stood and stretched and held out a hand to his husband.
“What’s next?” Jem asked. “Heather? She tried to burn Yesenia’s car. Or do we go back to the cat sanctuary and try to see what those guys were looking for? Or maybe check out Kristin? I know she’s your friend, but the anesthesia angle is…weird. We could try to track down DeVoy’s original buyer, but all I have is the first name Zach and a description; I’m not sure how far we’ll get. Or you could look at what I scored from DeVoy’s van.”
“I do want to look at that stuff, but I think we have something time sensitive to do first.” John-Henry grinned. “We’re going clubbing.”
“This is his dream,” Emery said, scowling at Jem. “Thanks so very fucking much.”
“Costume change,” John-Henry said. “Meet in the lobby in ten. And Jem, please don’t try to sneak out before us. We’re a team now.”
Chagrin filled Jem’s face, and a protest began to form.
For some reason, that made John-Henry laugh.
“Looks kind of like Colt, doesn’t he?” Emery said.
“That time you found the vape pod in his hoodie.”
“I do not—” Jem began.
But by then, the two men were out the door, and Emery pulled it shut behind him.
“—look like whoever that is,” Jem finished to Tean.
Tean pushed his hand through his hair. “I hate team sports.”
15
In the lobby, Jem decided that while John-Henry might have a cop’s eyes, and he might have a cop’s assholish personality lurking under the boy-next-door charm, he definitely knew how to wear a t-shirt. And jeans. And God damn it, the Adidas were actually pretty dope. The tattoo sleeves, though, were the real surprise. Vanilla cop got a little more interesting.
Emery had changed clothes too, into a similar getup of jeans and tee, although Jem wondered if Emery had picked the ass-strangling cut or if that had been John-Henry’s idea. Either way, the man had a serious rump.
Jem had opted for neon-green Puma shorts and a sleeveless black Nickelodeon tee (it was mostly characters fromHey Arnold!), although he’d done the mature thing and worn his ROOS instead of flip-flops. He’d also opted for one of his more respectable trucker hats: black and white with red letters, it had the Wienerschnitzel logo in front and then I HEART WIENERS. Tean, on the other hand, looked miserable in jeans and a white tee; Jem had already caught him twice trying to tuck in the t-shirt, and it looked like Tean was considering giving it another shot as soon as Jem got distracted.
“Five bucks say his balls fall out the first time he takes a full step,” Emery said. “Did you have to tape your dick to the inside of those things?”
“Yes,” Jem said. “Want to borrow them?”
Emery’s expression tightened with annoyance.
The perpetual sound of Christmas music swelled, and then faded, and then in the silence of the empty lobby, a distorted voice blatted over the blown speakers, “That wasChristmas on Death Row. Next up, the Reverend Horton Heat gives his take on a classic.”
“I don’t understand,” Jem said.
“Big surprise,” Emery muttered.
“Is it a radio station? Is that what we’re listening to? An all-Christmas, year-round radio station? Or does the resort have their own DJ?”
