“Like this,” Jadon said, his breath hot against Shaw’s neck. The hearing protection that they both wore muffled the sound of Jadon’s voice, but it couldn’t hide the smooth confidence that was Jadon’s hallmark tone. “Good. Ok, now, I’m going to step back, and then you try a few shots.”

  As much as Shaw liked the feel of the other man’s touch, he felt vaguely relieved when Jadon peeled himself away. He tried to keep his grip the way Jadon had shown him, and he sighted down the length of the pistol and squeezed off the first shot. Then another. And then another. Even from a distance, he could see where the bullets punched through the paper silhouette pinned down range.

  Grinning, he looked over his shoulder, and Jadon grinned back and gave him a keep going roll of his finger. Shaw turned his attention back to the range and emptied the magazine. When he’d finished and his Springfield XD9 had its slide locked back, Shaw pushed the ear protection back and turned to Jadon. They were alone, and Shaw wanted to hear Jadon’s evaluation.

  Jadon slapped a button on the wall, and the paper target jerked on its rail and sped toward them. When it reached them, Jadon unpinned it from the hanger and displayed it for Shaw. Tracing the cluster of rounds that Shaw had hit at center mass, Jadon whistled and said, “Remind me not to ever make you angry.”

  His hand curled easily around Shaw and came to rest at the small of his back. He stepped closer, his hip bumping Shaw’s. Tugging down the hearing protection, Jadon bent and kissed the side of Shaw’s neck. His fingers threaded through the laces at Shaw’s throat. The collar slipped open, exposing the sensitive skin to the range’s cool air.

  “No,” Shaw said. He stumbled out of Jadon’s grip. “I mean, not here, right? We’re in public.”

  Jadon had a beach bum’s coloring: darkly sandy hair, darker eyebrows, even darker eyes. Right now, those eyes crinkled at the edges as he studied Shaw. “You mean, this indoor shooting range? This is a public place.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jadon took a step forward. “And anyone could walk in at any time?”

  Shaw slid back. “Yeah, I mean—”

  “And if I had you bent over the shelf, your bare ass in the air, and I was just going to town,” Jadon advanced again, “someone could walk in on us?”

  This time, Shaw bumped up against the shelf in question as he moved backward. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Another smoothly predatory step brought Jadon into Shaw’s personal space, crowding him against the end of the booth. He caught the laces on the front of Shaw’s shirt again, teasing open the collar, his thumb riding the ripple of Shaw’s ribcage. “That’s what makes it so hot, baby.”

  The room swam in Shaw’s vision. “No, Jadon, I—”

  Laughing, Jadon stepped back. His eyes crinkled at the corners again.

  Wiping his forehead, Shaw managed to swallow and take a breath. As fear subsided, his higher thinking kicked into gear again, and he made a face. “You were teasing me?”

  “Well, not at first. At first I just wanted to make out with you.” He held finger and thumb an inch apart. “Just a little.”

  Shaw covered his eyes with both hands. “Oh man.”

  “Shaw.”

  “Oh my gosh.”

  “Come on, babe. It’s ok.”

  “I’m so stupid.”

  “No.” Jadon peeled his hands away, kissed him on one eyebrow, then on the other, squeezing Shaw’s hands between his own. “I shouldn’t have teased.” He seemed to reassess something. “I didn’t realize you were taking it so seriously.”

  Shaw managed a weak smile, and he accepted Jadon’s kiss as best he could. His heart was still racing, however.

  Jadon looked like he might say something else, but the door to the range opened, and a pair of men moved into the room. They glanced at Shaw and Jadon holding hands, and they exchanged a look of confusion and, then, disgust. Without a word, they moved to the farthest booth.

  “Come on,” Jadon said. “One more round, and then we’ll call it quits.” His eyes crinkled again. “I won’t ravish you, no matter how well you shoot.”

  While Jadon attached a new paper target and sent the silhouette skimming down the lane, Shaw fed cartridges into the Springfield’s magazine. His hands smelled like brass even after he had wiped them on the peasant’s blouse that he was wearing.

  Jadon stepped behind him, his arms along Shaw’s arms, his hands touching lightly as they guided Shaw’s. “You did really well on that last round, but I want you to keep your hands up. You’re dropping the gun a little after each shot. Stay on target.”

  His breath tickled the back of Shaw’s neck. When he turned his head, adjusting his position, the stubble on his chin grazed the nape of Shaw’s neck, and a line of heat ran down the center of Shaw’s chest. But Shaw also felt irritated. He wanted to shake off Jadon and have a few inches of space to himself. The feeling was irrational, and Shaw tamped it down. Shaw was lucky. That’s what he told himself. He was lucky Jadon was willing to spend time with him. Especially after Matty.

  “A little higher. Ok.” Another skin-tightening brush of Jadon’s stubble. Then Jadon squeezed Shaw’s wrist, and Shaw fired.

  This time, when they retrieved the target, the shots were even more neatly clustered at center mass. Jadon was grinning as he unpinned the target, and then he wrapped Shaw in a one-armed hug and kissed him. “Way to go, babe. Look at that. You did great.”

  “It was five meters, though.”

  “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many people can’t shoot straight even from five meters? Do you know how many cops miss, even at a distance like this, when it’s a real situation?”

  “Yeah,” Shaw said, the praise annoying him for a reason he couldn’t explain. “But this isn’t a real situation. And it was five meters, Jay. Five.”

  “You did amazing. Five meters is amazing. You practice here. Then you practice at seven. Then you practice at ten. But you practice, practice, practice.”

  “Yeah.”

  Jadon tipped Shaw’s head back, one finger under Shaw’s chin. “Say it.”

  Shaw rolled his eyes. Dr. Farr, his therapist, would have kicked him in the ankle and told him how stupid he was being. Well, maybe not in those words, but something to the same effect. And Master Hermes, Shaw’s spiritual advisor, would have muttered a warning about Shaw poisoning his own aura and about the mistake of not acting when Venus rose in Jupiter. But Shaw couldn’t help it.

  “I did awesome.”

  Jadon chucked him under the chin. “And?”

  “And nobody better fuck with me,” Shaw said, cheeks heating.

  Kissing him again, Jadon tugged at the laces, his knuckles bumping along the exposed vee of Shaw’s chest. “Damn right,” he said. Then he took in Shaw’s face. “I’m annoying you.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, say it: I am. I’ll stop, I promise.”

  “It’s not you. I’m just worried about this case.”

  A smile quirked the edge of Jadon’s mouth. “That sounds like my line.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. And I’m sorry if I’m too, well, verbal. I don’t know. I like telling you how I feel. And I like hearing you say good things about yourself.”

  For the first time since Jadon had picked him up, Shaw felt a genuine smile. Before he could answer, though, his phone buzzed. He saw North’s name on the screen and tilted his head at the door.

  Jadon nodded. “I’ll pack up here and meet you at the car.”

  Stepping out of the range, Shaw answered the call. “Hey.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the—just out. With Jadon.”

  The dead air on the line made Shaw’s skin prickle. North wouldn’t have missed the evasion. But all North said was, “Can you get over to the Iris building?”

  “What’s wrong? You sound—” Terrible, Shaw wanted to say. Frightening. This voice wasn’t really North’s voice. It sounded very similar to the other voice, the one that Shaw associated with North’s infrequent visits to his father. But this one wasn’t quite the same. This one had a hollow, deadened quality to it that terrified Shaw. “Are you upset?”

  “Pari just called me screaming. I could barely understand what she was saying, but I got the gist of it. They found Shep Collins. His body, anyway. He was in the trunk of Chuck’s car.”

  “What?”

  “I know. It sounds like a fucking mess.” The words sounded like North, but the voice was all wrong.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?”

  “I forgot you were on a date. I’ll go.”

  “No, I’ll meet you there, I just—”

  “No. I’ll go.”

  Then North disconnected, and Shaw was left staring at the phone, his heart beating a hundred times faster.

  Jadon drove into the city faster than Shaw would have dared, and even though the Sonata was a car that North would have turned up his nose at, Jadon handled it well and pressed it to its limits, cutting through the occasional clusters of vehicles still on the road. Eight o’clock at night wasn’t really a time for traffic in the city, but Jadon drove like the rest of the world was standing still. From time to time, his hand would curl possessively around Shaw’s knee, his thumb tracing circles on the side of Shaw’s leg. Shaw’s earlier irritation had vanished. After a few minutes, he clutched Jadon’s hand, winding their fingers together.

  “Who found the body?” Jadon asked.

  Shaw shook his head. He was wondering the same thing, but in the glass, where he saw his thin reflection, he was really seeing North, hearing that horrible voice.

  “Where were Chuck and Pari?”

  “The hospital, maybe? Or the urgent care? She had to get stitches.” Shaw barely heard his own voice. He was thinking: could North have gotten hurt? Been in an accident? Had Tucker started hitting him again?

  “How long has this guy been missing?”

  “Since Thursday.” Or was it possible that it was something else? Had North’s father died? That was a horrible thought, but somehow, it was the least horrible of all the things that Shaw could think of. Worse, much worse, was this one, irrational fear that kept occurring in Shaw’s mind: that North had seen him with Jadon, and that somehow the deadened affect of North’s voice was Shaw’s fault.

  “When you made the home visit, did you notice—”

  Shaw squeezed Jadon’s hand. “You’re doing it.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I know. But you’re being a cop, too.”

  “I’m being a detective.” But Jadon offered a tight smile. “If Bryce and I catch this one, you know I won’t be able to, well, you know.”

  “Date me?”

  Jadon burst out laughing. “Good luck to whoever tries to stop that. No, I just won’t be able to help you, you know? I can’t talk to you about my cases.”

  “I know.”

  “I just didn’t want you to, I don’t know.”

  “Manipulate you sexually so that you become my unwitting pawn in the Metropolitan police?”

  “That’s not exactly how I would have said it.” Then Jadon grinned, although he kept his attention on the road. His hand slid up Shaw’s thigh, fingers stroking up and back. “Although now that you mention it . . .”

  Shaw grinned, trying to hide the cold flash that went through him. Breathe, he told himself. Breathe and smile. Spread your legs a little—good, like that. Lean back into the seat. Relax your shoulders, your head, your neck. But most of all, just breathe.

  He liked Jadon. That was the important part. He really liked him. He liked that Jadon was a good detective. He liked that Jadon was smart. He liked that Jadon was way more of a hipster than his preppy, pro-athlete look at work would have given away. And he liked—he loved—that Jadon was patient with him. That Jadon understood. Or that, at the very least, Jadon was trying to understand.

  But as Jadon’s smirk grew, and as his fingers stroked harder, rode higher, Shaw had to fight to control himself. That tremendous white panic was about to go off in his head, and then it would drift down, and Shaw would start to go dark. He hated that part, the going dark. He hated it so much. But when Jadon kept touching, kept fumbling, kept mouthing at Shaw’s collarbone, sometimes it was the only way to keep from losing his mind.

  “Gotta stay focused,” Shaw said, plastering a brighter grin on his face and scooting Jadon’s hand back toward his knee.

  “Later, though,” Jadon purred.

  Yes, Shaw thought, another flash freeze running through him. Later.

  They parked in front of the Iris house; two cruisers were pulled to the curb, their lights still flashing, and Shaw spotted a Ford a few cars up that he guessed was an unmarked police vehicle. “Is that Barr?”

  “Damn it.” Jadon was shaking his head as he slid out of the Sonata. “No. That’s Taylor and Waggener. They must have caught it instead of us.”

  Shaw moved around the side of the house, Jadon at his side. “Why them?”

  “Why did they catch it? Their turn, I guess.” Jadon laughed at the look on Shaw’s face. “Barr and I aren’t the only ones on the LGBTQ task force. Barr might have started the whole operation, and I’m obviously the best cop they’ve got—”

  “Obviously,” Shaw said.

  Smirking, Jadon continued, “—but we’ve got six detectives, and we rotate. Taylor and Waggener must have been up next.”

  “And they are?”

  “Tough as shit,” Jadon said as they emerged into the backyard. “But they’re—Jesus.”

  Ahead of them, a grisly scene was being dissected by a team of forensic experts. The setting sun threw long shadows, and to compensate, halogen lights on stands already flooded the scene with shockingly white light. Most of the light—and the forensic attention—was directed toward a cement pad that backed up the alley. Wide enough for three compact cars, probably two larger ones, the pad was currently occupied by only one vehicle: a faded, lemon-colored VW Bug. Shaw’s attention moved to Pari, who stood at one end of the fenced yard, her arms wrapped around her while a female officer spoke quietly to her. Opposite Pari, and receiving similar treatment, stood Chuck; where the sunset skimmed along her head, the bleached hair sparked with orange and red. Together with the Bug, they formed a loose triangle.

  “What the fuck is going on?” North stood behind Shaw, and Shaw stared back at him, unable to believe what he was seeing. North’s face was pale, and the front of his white tee was spattered with blood. His hands looked wrecked—split and swollen knuckles, the fingers curled loosely as though they hurt too much to close properly. “What happened to Pari? Have you talked to—”

  He tried to push between Shaw and Jadon, but Jadon, who was bigger, caught him with a flat hand on the chest and shoved North back.

  “Not a good idea, my friend,” Jadon said.

  North’s head twisted sharply toward Jadon. He smiled. “Your friend?”

  “Ok,” Shaw said, and he tried to squirm between them, but Jadon pushed him back.

  “You should take your hand off me, friend,” North said.

  “Something really messed up is going on,” Shaw said, trying to wriggle between them again. “And we can’t be—”

  Jadon pushed him back again. Gently. But firmly.

  North’s smile got bigger. He looked down at Jadon’s hand. He looked up. His smile turned into a crazy, shit-eating grin. “Don’t touch Shaw like that, friend. That’s not a good idea either. Friend.”

  “You’ve got blood all over you,” Jadon said. “You look like hell. What do you think is going to happen if you barge in on an active crime scene like this?”

  “This must be why Shaw likes you,” North said, still grinning. “You’re so smart.”

  “I know what I’d do with you: I’d toss you in the back of a patrol car, have you taken back to the station, and I’d talk to you when I was finished with everything else. I’d get samples from your shirt. I’d try to get samples from you. I’d hold you as long as I could and I’d sweat you.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with this, friend.” North looked at Jadon’s hand again. “You’ve got nice nails. I bet you like a manicure. Shaw does too. Friend.”

  “North, you’re being an asshole,” Shaw said. “Jadon’s right. You can’t charge in there and expect them not to have a lot of questions.”

  “Glad you agree,” North said, turning that horrible grin on Shaw. “Glad you’re smart, too. Both of you are so fucking smart.”

  “You’ve got a job to do, right? And you need to do it. You don’t need to sit in the substation and play their game, right?” Jadon met North’s gaze, but Shaw didn’t think that was helping. It was like locking eyes with a wild animal. It was a challenge.

  “Yeah,” North said. “Thanks, friend. Thanks a lot. You’re just so fucking smart.”

  “Jesus, they spotted me,” Jadon said, glancing over his shoulder. A man and a woman, both in the worn suits that marked them as police detectives, were crossing the lawn. “Can you handle him for a minute?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Jadon turned and headed toward his fellow detectives, hailing them with a raised hand as he went.

  “Go ahead, Shaw,” North said, “handle me.”

  Shaw touched North’s stomach, laying his hand flat, feeling the heat of dense muscle under the thin cotton. “Please stop talking like that.”

  It lasted another ten seconds, and then North shivered and dropped his head. The smile slid off his cheeks.

  “Come here,” Shaw said, pushing slightly, and they moved to the front of the house, out of sight of the detectives whom Jadon had intercepted. “What’s wrong?”

  North shook his head. The color in his cheeks was still high; his breathing hitched once, and he turned his face away from Shaw. Then he wiped at his eyes.

  “North,” Shaw said.

  North had a hand up, warding him off. Shaw ignored the gesture, sliding under North’s arm, wrapping the bigger man in a hug. North gave a violent shudder and tried to pull away, but Shaw just latched on tighter, and then, after a moment, North ducked his head and buried it in Shaw’s shoulder. The movement was so sudden, so full of compressed energy, that for a moment, Shaw mistook it for violence.