His voice was calm, deceptively so, but his eyes gave him away. Bright, even in the half-lit room. He wanted to investigate. He wanted it so much he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to want it—but want it, he did. And I knew why. Trey hadn’t been able to save his relationship with Gabriella. Hadn’t been able to save Jessica’s life or see that her killer was brought to justice. But now, he had a chance to rectify one of those things.
“You don’t need Nick’s permission to look into this. Finn’s either.”
“That’s not the problem. The problem is…there are many problems. I’m not making the best choices right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
He exhaled in frustration. “I shouldn’t have gotten the files. I shouldn’t have agreed to the meeting. I shouldn’t have gone to the Talbot house—”
“You shouldn’t have taken that stalker guy’s phone.”
Trey’s forehead wrinkled. “I didn’t take his phone.”
“Oh, wait.” I smiled. “That was me.”
And I pulled Martinez’s phone from my pocket.
Trey stared. “How did you get that?”
“Security hauled him out the door without asking for it—they really are sub-par.” I waggled it. “It’s dead now, so it’s also useless until we can get it recharged. Which means we’ll probably have to crack the passcode.”
Trey was shaking his head incredulously. “You just…took it. Just like that.”
“Yep. Because I’ll let you in on a secret.” I leaned closer. “You’re not the only one whose life has gotten boring.”
He looked relieved to have the topic out in the open. “I know. I’ve been concerned. You haven’t been…you lately. You’ve been very…”
“Boring?”
“Cautious. And you have reason to be, I understand, but cautious is not like you.” The corner of his mouth quirked just the slightest. “Taking Martinez’s phone, however, is exactly like you.”
“And wanting to help an unexpectedly innocent man whose life is in danger is exactly like you.”
He examined my face in the tawny light, curious now, letting his eyes roam from feature to feature as if memorizing or remembering or both. He rolled toward me, then took the phone and placed it next to the cereal bowl.
His hand moved to my hip. “I saw you.”
“Saw me what?”
“Reach for the teapot when Martinez came in the door.”
I slid my foot down his calf and hooked a toe in his shoe, sent it tumbling to the floor. “Guilty as charged. But then you put him in a rear wrist lock, and I didn’t need to bash him after all.”
His hand slid under my shirt, tracing a line up my spine. I arched into his touch, and he nuzzled the crook of my neck, pressing a kiss to the tender spot right above my clavicle.
His voice was soft in my ear. “Tai?”
“Yes?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
He raised his head and looked me right in the eye. “This afternoon. It was…multi-syllabic, starts with S.”
“Surprising? Significant?”
“No, something more…” He licked his lips, shook his head. “More like…you know.”
“Satisfying?”
“Yes. That’s it. Immensely satisfying.”
He said it as if he were divulging a particularly delicious fetish. He was burning to make things right, or—if that wasn’t possible—to make things more sensible. To find the answers that perhaps changed nothing, but which at least rendered the void of understanding a little less empty.
“So keep investigating,” I said.
“I want to.” He brushed his thumb against my lower lip. “But I can’t do it alone.”
“Of course you can.”
He shook his head. “No. I can’t. My interactions today clearly demonstrated that. But you? You did very well.”
“Trey—”
He kissed me. It was a kiss designed to shut me up, a trick he’d learned from me and utterly perfected. But as his fingers tangled deeper in my hair, he lost himself in it, so many wants meshing together. I kissed him back, drawing more response from him, echoing and redoubled, a feedback loop of pleasure and desire. His lips were warm and soft and expert, and his hands…oh, sweet mercy, his hands…and I wound my arms around his neck, his shoulders, feeling the shift of muscle along his back.
This was the Trey I knew, but he was also tantalizingly unknown, a familiar stranger rising from the ashes of his former self, cinders still sparking in his hair. There was no hesitation, no confusion, no uncertainty.
“Help me investigate,” he said.
I stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
“But you hate it when I investigate. You say I ask too many questions, you tell me I antagonize people.” I wrapped my leg around his hips and rolled him on top of me. “You complain about my methods all the time.”
“Not all the time.” His voice was a rough whisper against my neck. “Not all your methods.”
I kissed him some more, deeper and hungrier, and I was dragging my shirt over my head when I felt the vibration against my hip. His phone buzzing. He didn’t immediately reach for it—I kept him occupied for a good five seconds more—but eventually he untangled his fingers from my hair and slipped them into his pocket. He didn’t untangle the rest of himself, though he did bring the phone to eye level and squint at it.
“Local number. Unknown.”
I got a ping of excitement. “It’s Nick.”
“You don’t know—”
“How many unknown numbers do you get on that phone? Zero. It’s Nick.”
He kept his thumb on the phone. His breath was ragged, but the question in his eyes was impossible to miss.
“Tai—”
“Yes, the answer’s yes, of course I’ll help.” I kissed him quickly but thoroughly. “Whatever you need, partner. I’m all in.”
He hit the button. “Seaver here.”
Chapter Twenty-four
A very annoyed and scuffed-up Nick paced the driveway of the modest brick ranch house, a red Mazda headfirst in a bank of shrubbery. His shirt was covered in dirt and what appeared to be blood, one eye swollen shut, his hair a matted tangle. He looked like he’d gone three rounds with a mad bear.
Trey and I watched from my car. Finn had warned us to keep our distance, and we’d obliged. From what I could
