Ashe staggered back, fired skyward, and fell into the pool.
“No no no no…” Taylor ran to the ledge of natural rock. “No.” He stared across the choppy water. “Jesus Christ, Will. I said I had this. I said…” He was suddenly, abruptly, out of breath, feeling very weird, almost light-headed as he stared at Ashe floating facedown, not moving. An inky cloud unfurled lazily around Ashe’s head.
“He was going to shoot you.” Will stood on the other side of the pool, pistol still trained on Ashe’s bobbing body.
“He wasn’t going to shoot!”
Will’s icy calm shattered. He shouted, “He did fucking shoot. At you.”
Taylor shook his head and dived into the pool.
Chapter Seven
You had to wonder at whatever data insights and advertising algorithms determined who got what catalogs in the mail.
Like Occupant receiving a brochure for Christmas in Hawaii.
Why?
Just…why?
What did people even do in Hawaii for the holidays?
Will scowled at the colorful cover of a happy, laughing couple running on white sand and splashing in turquoise water. First of all, despite the background sandcastle with the star on top, that did not look like Christmas. Secondly, that couple was just goddamned annoying in their airbrushed perfection. Thirdly…
“And when this is over, you owe me a real vacation,” Taylor said, precariously balanced in the window. “We’ll call it a honeymoon.”
Will’s heart seemed to shrivel within the cage of his ribs.
A lifetime ago.
Eighteen months, if you wanted to get technical. But a long eighteen months, and the longest stretch had been the grueling last eight days.
Was Christmas in Hawaii something Taylor would like?
Was Christmas anywhere, anything something Taylor would like?
For an instant Will was back at Ashe Dekker’s house in Carpinteria, watching Taylor working over Dekker’s drenched, bloodstained body, shivering in the winter air and cursing as he tried to resurrect him.
And then, when it was clear nothing could be done, Taylor had stumbled to his feet, fighting Will’s efforts to take him into his arms.
“I told you to wait in the car!”
“I’m not your goddamned chauffeur. Lucky for you.”
“I had this. I had it under control.”
“Oh yeah, it was going great if your goal was to be dead by Christmas.”
“You had to push him. Couldn’t let me handle it. Couldn’t trust me—”
“That’s rich coming from you. I told you that first night I didn’t want to take this job. That I thought it was a mistake. Where was your trust? You brushed me off. You kept me out of the loop. You just assumed I was jealous.”
“You were jealous. Because you don’t trust me.”
They had argued before. That was a given. But not like that. Never like that. They had nearly come to blows. Will’s brain hurt from the things they had said to each other. His heart felt bruised.
Of course, it was a different story once the sheriffs and emergency services had arrived. Taylor had been stone-cold and completely professional. He had come to persuade his friend and client to surrender himself to the authorities. Dekker, drunk and terrified, had panicked and turned his weapon—the weapon used to murder Mike Zamarion earlier the same evening, as it turned out—on Taylor. Taylor’s partner had come to his aid, and Dekker had been killed.
It was the truth, but it probably didn’t hurt their credibility that the victim had a 0.15 blood alcohol level and his fingerprints on a murder weapon.
Will blinked away the memories.
Anyway. Hawaii had to beat what they usually did for the holidays, which was work their asses off.
In fact, the last time Will could remember one of them taking Christmas off was a year ago when he’d had the flu. He’d been hoping to fly home from Paris to surprise Taylor, but that plan had gone down the drain with half a box of Fervex.
They needed a break. And here they were, unexpectedly free for the holidays, having managed to complete the surveys for Webster Fidelity in record time. Partly that was because they had worked nonstop—mostly apart from each other—after the disaster of Ashe Dekker. Partly that was because Euphonia had turned out to be a genius at organizing and interpreting their scribbled and sometimes chaotic notes and less than pristine surveys. Nee was very good, even scary good, at calling the clients and worming out the information needed to fill in the blanks.
Sure, Will could head back to Oregon for Christmas, give Taylor some space. But they had been giving each other a lot of space this last week—had barely seen each other—and things weren’t getting better. No. The strain and silence were only solidifying. And Hawaii was everything Taylor loved: sun, sand, water, and plenty of comfortable alternatives to camping.
Will frowned at the framed photo of a smiling Taylor that sat on his desk. Not many smiles out of Taylor these days.
No. Not true. Taylor smiled all the time. If the curve of lips, the crease of cheek, the flash of teeth equaled a smile. Taylor was brisk and cheerful—and hard as a slammed-shut door. But the sunlit unguarded happiness of the photo? That smile hadn’t been seen in what felt like a long time.
Not since Ashe Dekker. Goddamn him.
Yeah, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. They had to do something for the holidays, after all, and sitting around in a silent house that suddenly felt too small for both of them? No. Maybe if they could get away, take a real vacation like Will had been promising forever, maybe talk things out? Maybe then they could get back to normal…
“Hawaii?” Taylor said skeptically when Will broached the idea that evening.
Will had almost lost his nerve after Taylor’s indifferent response to Japanese takeout from his favorite restaurant. It was possible he hadn’t even noticed. His conversation, per usual—their new usual—had revolved strictly around work.
Which was ironic, given how little enthusiasm either of them had for the job these days.
That wasn’t the worst of it. They hadn’t touched each other, beyond an inadvertent brush of hands or arms, since
