Marcus Wilkes hadn’t retired early or decided on a career change. One weekend when his wife and kids were away, Marcus wrote a goodbye note to his family and Locke then started his car inside the closed garage. From everything Sawyer knew about the incident, Locke was the one who found his partner’s body when Marcus had failed to return phone calls or texts. Only two months had passed since Marcus’s suicide, and while Sawyer hoped Locke warmed up to him someday, he realized he might be relegated to sit in the corner for the duration of his career at SPD.

  Rather than dwell on the precariousness of his situation, Sawyer followed the directions Chief Rigby had given him that morning to the IT department where he picked up his phone, credentials to log in to the system, and instructions on accessing his email. Then he got to work setting up his desk and retrieving and printing the legal documents Mrs. Hanover provided him along with her expressed permission to search and seize items pertaining to the homicide case. He forwarded the domain access information to the cyber techs so they could begin tracking the IP address to where the podcast episode was uploaded. When Sawyer finished, he rose from his chair and caught Locke watching him speculatively from his desk chair. Was that a hint of respect Sawyer saw in his partner’s eyes?

  “Ready to check out the storage unit, asshole?” Locke asked.

  Around them, the other detectives in their unit watched the interaction with bated breath.

  “It’s Adonis Asshole to you,” Sawyer reminded him, earning some good-natured chuckles from the bullpen.

  Locke shook his head and exited the bullpen without saying another word. Sawyer accepted it as a small victory and followed behind him.

  “This way,” Locke called out over his shoulder once they exited the building. He headed toward a charcoal gray Charger like the black one Sawyer had chosen from the motor pool.

  The oppressive June heat rose off the concrete and blacktop surrounding the police station. The thick, humid air from the high-pressure storm moving in had trapped the heat low to the ground, preventing it from rising upwards. Everywhere Sawyer looked, heat waves shimmered and danced beneath the scorching sun. Having grown up in Georgia, Sawyer wondered why humid summers still managed to catch him by surprise.

  “Loosen the noose around your neck before you choke,” Locke said. He’d stopped by the driver’s side of his car and turned to watch Sawyer’s approach. “Who are you trying to impress anyway?”

  “Oh, you know the saying about putting your best foot forward.” Sawyer wasn’t about to tell Locke he’d worn his lucky tie, which had seemed to lose its powers. “Tomorrow, I’ll show up wearing a tank top and shorts.”

  It was impossible to read Locke’s expression through his dark sunglasses, but Sawyer almost felt his partner’s gaze traveling over his body, making him impossibly hotter. Sawyer discounted the notion immediately. The heat had fried something in his brain.

  “Make sure the shorts have belt loops since you wear a holster on your belt. Kicking it old school, I guess.”

  “Are we going to have a pissing contest over the type of holster we prefer, or are we going to solve a homicide?”

  “We can’t do both? Is that the paperwork from Shirley Hanover we need to show to the site manager at Stow-N-Go?” Locked asked, nodding his head toward Sawyer’s hand.

  “No, it’s my grocery list.”

  “Asshole,” Locke said.

  “What’s up with your outfit?” Sawyer asked. “Did you just come from vice? They must’ve given me an outdated employee handbook with the wrong dress code.”

  “I’m special,” Locke countered.

  “I just bet.”

  Sawyer stared at Locke over the top of the car. He was glad he’d donned his dark glasses too so Locke couldn’t get a read on him either. Bantering with Locke made him feel more alive than he’d felt in…years. His partner shook his head then got behind the wheel of his car. Sawyer released a shaky breath and climbed inside too, grateful Locke had remote-started the car to get the air-conditioning going.

  “Look, I’m not trying to be a dickhead on purpose,” Locke said.

  “It just comes naturally?”

  “Something like that,” Locke said wryly. Sawyer glanced over in time to catch a glimpse of Locke’s smirk before it disappeared. “You know the story about my partner, right?”

  “I do, and I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  “I appreciate that, Key.” It was the first time Locke addressed him by his name instead of using an insult. “I need you to understand something. Marcus wasn’t just my partner; he was my best friend. I was the best man at his wedding and was there when his three children were born. Marcus and Candace made me their children’s godfather. Marcus Wilkes was the best man I’ve ever known, and there was no one I loved more than him, not even my own family.”

  Something in Locke’s reverent, heartbroken voice pierced Sawyer’s heart like a jagged piece of glass, severing the arteries and veins. The pressure in his chest became unbearably painful because Sawyer recognized the grief and heartbreak Locke was describing.

  Breathe in. Hold. Release. The pressure eased a little.

  Mixed in with his commiseration was a tingle of awareness. There was no one I loved more than him. It didn’t feel like Locke was expressing friendly or familial love. It felt more…intimate. A confession of sorts? Not just because of what Locke said, but because of the way he said it. Words both rusty and new as if his emotions had been buried and left to wither and were being unearthed for the first time. Had Locke been in love with his partner? Why tell him? A stranger he didn’t really know or even like. Was he even aware of the secret he’d exposed?

  Sawyer dismissed the line of thinking outright. He’d asked around about Locke before he’d taken the job. He’d wanted to know about his reputation as an officer, but mostly heard about his private conquests instead. According to the gossip, Locke wasn’t very discerning about the women he slept with and had a revolving door on his bedroom: one lady went in as the other came out. Was the gossip wrong? Was there more to Locke than he let the world see? Or was Sawyer looking for reasons to justify the ridiculous attraction sizzling beneath his skin. His life would be so much easier if Locke were straight, because he’d get past the attraction.

  Locke swallowed hard, and Sawyer thought his partner had said all he planned to until he cleared his throat and spoke again. “I need for you to understand the way I’m treating you has nothing to do with you. I didn’t want a new partner; I will never want a different partner than Marcus. I might always resent your presence in my life. I won’t invite you over for cookouts, and I won’t accept an offer from you if you were to extend one. I don’t want to know your favorite food, music, books, or movies. I do not want to be your friend today, tomorrow, or maybe even ever. You don’t deserve this, and I’m sorry, Key.”

  It was so much worse than Sawyer had guessed when he’d looked into Locke’s wounded eyes, and the warnings he’d received that morning weren’t nearly enough to protect himself from this evisceration. Words failed him, so he nodded.

  “Okay then,” Locke said, shifting the car into drive. He leaned forward and turned the fan up as high as it would go. The air rushing through the vents was the only noise inside the car when Locke turned right on Atlantic Ave then right again on E. 41st Street. He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel while waiting for the red light to change at the intersection of E. 41st and Paulson. He was either keeping up with the rhythm of music only he could hear, or he was nervous. Locke didn’t strike Sawyer as the anxious type, so he assumed Locke felt relieved, more relaxed, after his little state-of-the-partnership speech.

  Locke turned left onto Paulson when he got the green arrow. “The unit is on Maupas, right?”

  “Yeah,” Sawyer said casually, refusing to let Locke know how deeply his words impacted him. “I think you need to turn left on Maupas and the storage facility will be on the left.”

  “Thanks.”

  A few minutes later, Locke parked in front of a dark brown brick building where the offices for Stow-N-Go were located. A driveway beside the structure led to a locked gate where renters would enter a code into a keypad on a pedestal to gain access to their units. Chain-link fencing and razor-sharp barbwire surrounded the perimeter to keep unwanted visitors away, but the dark brown powder-coating covering the metal gave the fencing a classier appearance.

  “Pretty swanky for a storage facility,” Sawyer said.

  “Nothing but the best for The Putz,” Locke said. “Did Shirley give you the access codes for the gate and unit?”

  “Yes,” Sawyer replied.

  “We have written permission and the info to open it, so why don’t we just drive on back?”

  Sawyer turned his head and lowered his glasses so his partner could read his expression. “Because we want to do things transparently. The last thing we want to do is have the prosecution show a video of us lurking around without making our presence known. We do this right so some asshole doesn’t literally get away with murder.”

  “Fucking Boy Scout,” Locke grumbled, pushing open his door.

  Sawyer blew out a frustrated breath and followed him. Was this what he could expect from Locke every day? Abrupt remarks and insults followed by swift exits that made him feel like a fool? How badly did Sawyer want a job in law enforcement? The dull headache which had started in the interrogation room was getting stronger and seemed to pulse with Sawyer’s heartbeat.

  Locke hadn’t even waited for him at the door. Sawyer entered the office and saw his partner had already started charming the receptionist behind the desk. The brunette stared into Locke’s eyes for a few seconds before the sound of the chime above the door registered, indicating she had another visitor. She tore her gaze away from Locke’s and smiled at Sawyer. “Two handsome visitors at the same time.” She raked her eyes down to his waist where Sawyer kept his gun and badge secured on his belt. There was no way she missed Locke’s shoulder holster and badge dangling from a chain around his neck, identifying him as a law enforcement officer. “Handsome officers I should say.”

  “I’m Detective Locke, and this is Detective Key,” Locke said, gesturing to Sawyer when he stepped up beside him. “We’re here to search unit twenty-four sixty-nine as part of a homicide investigation.”

  “Do you have a search warrant, Detective?” she asked sweetly. The lady knew the law.

  “We don’t need one. Another party on the lease has granted us permission to search the unit,” Sawyer told her, handing over the email from Shirley Hanover and a copy of the lease showing her listed as a person who can access the unit.

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot accept this, Detectives. While it’s true Shirley Hanover can permit you to enter without a warrant, this email isn’t signed. It could’ve come from a phony email account. I’ll need to see a letter with a notarized signature, a signed warrant from a judge, or Mrs. Hanover can personally escort you back to the unit. I want to help you out, but I can’t.”

  “You could call her, darlin.’ You could verify her permission over the phone,” Locke said.

  “I’m not your darlin’, and our rules clearly state I’m required to obtain the documents I named before allowing you to enter the premise.”

  “You’re a rule follower, and I can appreciate that,” Locke said, quickly changing his tactics since schmoozing didn’t work. “Do your rules specifically address verbal permission?”

  The brunette’s brow formed a deep V and her pert nose scrunched up while she thought about it. “Verbal permission isn’t addressed one way or the other.”

  “If your rules and guidelines don’t specifically exclude verbal authorization, then it’s permissible,” Sawyer told her. “We’re not trying to give you a hard time, miss. We’re just trying to solve a homicide and put a killer behind bars. Don’t you want to do everything within your rights to help us?” Sawyer picked up the phone receiver and handed it to her. “Please call Mrs. Hanover. I’m sure the contact phone numbers she’s provided in the email match the ones in your records.”

  The receptionist looked at the email and compared the phone numbers to information on her screen, then she dialed Shirley Hanover’s number. “Good morning, Mrs. Hanover. This is Gretchen calling from Stow-N-Go Storage,” the woman said in a professional voice then paused to let Shirley respond. “I’m so sorry to bother you at a difficult time, but I have two detectives here wanting access to Roland Putzinski’s unit. I see that you’re listed on the account, and you do have permission to grant them entrance, but we usually require a letter with a notarized signature or a warrant before we allow the police to search the facility.” Gretchen paused and listened to Mrs. Hanover. “I agree with you, ma’am. I want to see the killer brought to justice also, so I thought of a compromise. I’m willing to allow the nice detectives inside the storage unit based on your verbal authorization as long as you promise to provide me a notarized version of the printed email in front of me.” Gretchen listened and nodded. “Yes, I can accept an emailed copy of the notarized statement.” The brunette smiled at us. “Oh, that’s very convenient, and I’m sure the detectives would like a copy as well.”

  When it seemed like Gretchen’s conversation with Mrs. Hanover was going to last a while, Locke gestured to the door and waited for Gretchen to respond. She covered the phone and whispered, “You guys go on ahead. Mrs. Hanover’s neighbor is a notary, and she’ll get the notarized document to me this afternoon and to the dark-haired, handsome detective also.”

  “Perfect,” Locke said then rapped his knuckles against her desk. “Thank you for your help.”

  Gretchen smiled at him and said, “It’s my pleasure.”

  It was Sawyer’s turn to exit first and saunter toward the Charger while Locke trailed behind him.

  “That was some pretty smooth talking back there,” Locke said. “Sounded very lawyer-like.”

  “I suppose it did,” Sawyer replied casually.

  “Have you read a bunch of law books or subscribed to magazines or something?”

  Sawyer turned when he reached the car and shrugged casually. “Something like that.” He had no intention of opening up to a man who might always resent his existence on the police force. If Locke wanted to know more about him, he could do his research. It wouldn’t take him long to discover he’d gone to law school and passed the bar. Working in his father’s law practice didn’t stir his passion, so he’d chosen to uphold the law in a different way.

  Locke imperceptibly shook his head. “I’ll let you keep your secrets…for now.”

  You’ll let me keep my secrets, Sawyer thought to himself. He wasn’t sure if he was irritated by Locke’s arrogant assumption that he could and would get the truth from him if he chose to do so or disappointed his partner didn’t press for more information. Sawyer wanted to kick himself in the ass for caring one way or the other. Locke’s smug smirk said he knew he’d won that round.

  Even though they hadn’t been inside the office long, the car was stifling hot. Sawyer resisted the urge to shove his face against the vent to cool himself off and hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. He considered himself a calm, rational man who didn’t let people push his buttons, but Locke somehow managed to burrow beneath his skin in a matter of hours, making Sawyer a stranger to his own mind and body.

  Damn him for being a sucker for wounded eyes and pretty lips. Locke would hate Sawyer viewing him that way, but it didn’t make it less true. He’d need to harden his heart and excavate the man before he got too damn comfortable and drained the life out of Sawyer like a fucking tick.

  “What do you think about Melody Jameson?” Locke asked, breaking the awkward silence as he reversed out of the parking spot. “Do you think she was truthful?”

  “About which part?”

  “That she never intended to publicly out Putz?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Sawyer said. “I think Melody Jameson wants to believe she’d never do that to someone, but we saw what happened between her and Shirley Hanover. It could’ve been an isolated, knee-jerk reaction because the older woman brings out the worst in her, or it might be who she truly is. I mean, who is the real Melody Jameson?”

  “You think she was bullshitting us?”

  Sawyer shrugged. “I think we’ll know more once we look through the folder she gave us.”

  “Fuck. I was so distracted I forgot to get the file from the interview room.”

  “She is beautiful,” Sawyer said. “No worries though; I locked the file in my bottom desk drawer.”

  Locke chuckled. “I was referring to the case distracting me. Besides, she’s not my type.”

  “Prefer a more natural beauty?” Sawyer asked to make conversation.

  “Yes. I prefer an athletic build and brunettes over blondes.”

  Even though Sawyer suspected Locke meant brunette ladies, he still nearly choked on his saliva. Even if Locke was bi, pan, or even just curious, it was doubtful he’d want to scratch the itch with a man he saw as an unwanted intrusion into his life. It wouldn’t be the first time Sawyer was attracted to a man who would never return his feelings, but he always got over it quickly. He didn’t believe in wasting time and energy on things that would never happen. Locke would be no different. As soon as Sawyer accepted he was straight, it would be a breeze to get over his attraction, especially with Locke acting like the ace of dickheads.

  Wounded eyes. Pretty lips.

  “What’s the code to get in?” Locke asked, pulling up to the keypad pedestal.

  “Sixty-nine sixty-nine sixty-nine,” Sawyer said dryly.

  Locke turned toward him and shoved his sunglasses on top of his head. “For real?”