Calder gathered him into his arms awkwardly, pressing kisses against his temple and forehead. “I hate when you cry, angel. You’re breaking my heart. I’ve got you. Okay? We’re gonna get this figured out. You hired me to keep you safe, but I’m also a private investigator. Let’s go home and do a little digging. I have a friend who can help us figure out what they know. But please, please don’t cry.”
Calder’s words made Robby ache in a way he’d never be able to describe. It was like he was in a completely different kind of fake relationship, one where Calder would be every single thing Robby had always wanted but never dared hope for, but only for a limited time. It was perfect. Calder was perfect. But there was a clock ticking over their heads.
Robby had told himself that nothing could be worse than pretending to be Elijah Dunne’s family-friendly boyfriend, but he was wrong. So wrong. Losing Calder was going to hurt like losing a limb, a phantom pain that would twitch and burn long after Calder moved on from Robby for good.
Calder sat in the living room reading the ME report. Beside him, Robby napped under the fluffy black blanket they’d used yesterday, his head resting on Calder’s thigh, Casanova snuffling like a winded gremlin in Calder’s ear as he perched on the back of the sofa behind his head. The tv was on, playing a movie he’d turned on then quickly ignored, when Webster emailed the medical examiner’s report.
Calder had pulled up the report on his tablet, unwilling to disturb the peacefully sleeping boy just to go get his laptop from the bedroom. As he read, he stroked Robby, his fingers playing with the boy’s hair, mapping the shell of his ear, tracing his jawline. Calder didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed this…connection he had with Robby. It seemed foreign to feel so close to another person. He’d spent years perfecting the art of being physically close to somebody while avoiding intimacy like the plague. But it was impossible to keep Robby at arm’s length. No matter how much Calder tried to think of him as temporary, it just felt like a lie.
When he cupped Robby’s cheek, the boy nuzzled into Calder’s palm and sighed, seeking his touch even in sleep. Calder never would have guessed that the one person to sneak past his defenses was this complete mess of a kid and his ugly as sin dog, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He had a job to do. He’d figure out how to untangle himself later.
His phone buzzed and his stomach dropped as the name of the funeral home appeared on his screen. He ignored the call, but he couldn’t ignore the guilt eating a hole through his belly. He couldn’t avoid them forever. They insisted there was nobody else. He knew it was true. He’d looked far and wide, but if anybody had ever loved the girl, they were now long gone. He was all she’d had, and even in death, he was still letting her down.
Robby rolled over, rubbing his face against Calder’s leg, before sighing deep and sinking back into sleep. The boy was exhausted. He’d cried for an hour before sleep had finally come. Calder had tried to make him feel better, had wanted him to understand that Calder wouldn’t let anything bad happen, even if it meant breaking the law. Hell, even if it meant breakingeverylaw. The kid had been through enough in his life. There was no way Calder was letting them add a prison sentence to that hardship. Though he doubted it would come to that.
Calder took a sip of his coffee and turned his attention back to the report. It was depressingly unenlightening. The assailant who’d entered Robby’s apartment had a heart two sizes too big. Literally. According to the pathologist, Dr. Gupta, if Robby hadn’t killed him, his next cheeseburger probably would have. Three out of four of his major arteries were occluded by plaque. She’d also noted severe cirrhosis of the liver, diabetes, and a suspicious mass on the man’s pancreas. What she hadn’t noted was a burn mark in the shape of a cross on the man’s foot.
Calder wasn’t sure if that meant Robby’s father hadn’t sent the man or if Jeb Shaw was just smart enough to avoid detection by not sending someone bearing the mark of his cultish church. It also did nothing to help explain the detective claiming they had evidence that Robby had met the man before the night of the break-in. Were they bluffing? He doubted it. They wouldn’t have tag-teamed Robby like that in interrogation if they truly believed Robby’s story. Something had led them to believe Robby and this John Doe had met before. Calder needed to figure out what they knew and how they knew it.
As soon as they’d gotten into Calder’s truck, he’d texted Webster and asked him to run a search on Robby’s social media for the night of his arrest since it seemed to be the only day the boy couldn’t account for. He said he’d compile a report and see if he could create some kind of cyber timeline to map Robby’s whereabouts that night to try to determine where he could have run into a fifty-something-year-old stranger. Was it a random encounter? Crazed fan? Had he followed Robby home? How did he get past security at Robby’s apartment complex? Had they had an altercation at the club? On the street? Had the man also taken a dildo to the face? Calder imagined if a cop was mad enough to taze and pepper spray Robby, John Doe might not have been above murder.
Before he could put too much thought into it, the buzzer to the callbox downstairs beeped out a weird rhythm and then began to screech like somebody was holding down the button. When it finally stopped, Calder said, “What the fuck?”
“It’s us, let us up.”
Calder sighed at the familiar voice and shook his head. Was this what it would be like if he and Robby were together? Wyatt and Charlie bursting into his apartment uninvited at all hours of the day and night? He tried to muster up the irritation that thought would have caused just a week ago but found he couldn’t. He shook the thought away, unsettled at how much the idea pleased him. It was a great fantasy, but it was just that, a fantasy. Calder didn’t deserve a happily ever after. Maybe Robby was his penance. Seeing what he could have had if he’d done the right thing, if he hadn’t been so selfish when it truly mattered.
He pressed the button to unlock the front entrance. He opened the door just as Wyatt and Charlie were walking up the last step into his hallway. “You guys know you don’t live here, right?”
Charlie rolled her eyes and waved a hand. “We might have just solved your case for you so you should be a little nicer.”
“What are you babbling about?” Calder asked, a throbbing starting in his left temple.
“I’m talking about you needing to pull aHangoverand piece together Robby’s blackout. If anybody knows how to do that, it’s Wyatt and me. We’ve lost entire weekends. Shit, one time in Ibiza, we lost a whole week.”
“It’s true,” Wyatt said as if imparting some sage wisdom.
“How exactly do you even know about any of this?”
Charlie gave him a look like his question was absurd. “You called Webster, Webster called Linc, Linc was getting a blowjob so he put it on speaker, Wyatt finished up his…husbandly duties and then called me, and here we are.”
She brandished her phone from her purse. “So, I used this app that basically allows you to compile every pic or video or tag you were mentioned in within a specific timeframe, and I’m almost positive I can tell you everywhere Robby was from about five thirty in the afternoon until his arrest. Believe me when I tell you, homeboy was busy.”
“What’s going on?” Robby asked, voice thick from sleep.
Charlie beamed at him, but the look carried a fair amount of pity. “Hey, Boo. We were just telling your knight in dirty denim that we may have pieced together where you were and what you were doing the night you were arrested.”
Robby’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, yeah? Great,” he said, sounding like it was not great.
Wyatt went and sat next to Robby on the couch, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “So, the good news is, there are tons of pics and videos of you that night. The bad news is, there are tons of pics and videos of you that night and I’m about eighty-five to ninety percent sure the tabloids will find them eventually.”
Robby groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Is it that bad?”
Charlie gave a malicious cackle. “Bad? Oh, it’s glorious. I just wish I had been there as your wingman, er, woman. Whatever, the truth is, you had an epic night and you should never let anybody shame you for it.”
Robby peeked at Wyatt from between his fingers. “Forget it. I don’t want to know. Just let them take me to jail. It would be far less humiliating than whatever it is you two are so happy about.”
“Oh, buttercup. Your ass is far too pretty for prison. You’d be holding somebody’s pocket before dinner.”
