“You’ve had no contact in all the years?” Atticus asked.
“I froze him out after I learned he had a boyfriend. He talked to my parents a few times after that to update them about Mercy, but even that stopped after a few months when they stopped asking questions.”
“Why did they stop?” Atticus asked, certain he already knew the answer.
“My dad died, my mom got assaulted, and Gabe became a low priority while I was trying to raise Felix. Our neighborhood is small. When I saw him around, I went in the other direction. We weren’t enemies, exactly. Most of the time, I didn’t think of him at all. I had no interest in being friends.”
“You said you knew him from around the neighborhood. So, he lived in this neighborhood? Your neighborhood?”
Jericho nodded. “Yeah.”
“Yeah, he’s full of shit. Vélez told me he didn’t know Carlos because he was working West End, which is bullshit in and of itself because, if you’re a UC in narcotics, you’re going to know the hierarchy of shitbags for the 4Loco crew. They’re the biggest gang in this area. Besides, UCs have informants everywhere. He lived in your neighborhood. He was a narc. I find it hard to believe he’s never heard the name Carlos Perez, even if it was only as a guy who ran 4Loco years ago.”
Jericho looked at the doors of the station. “You think Gabe played me?”
Atticus caught Jericho’s attention. “I think it’s a possibility. We need to at least look into him a bit more. Is that alright?”
Jericho nodded. “Yeah, we need to know. But for the record, if he had something to do with Mercy’s disappearance, I’m going to kill him. Slowly.”
Atticus shrugged. “I’ll drive. I’ll show you some of my favorite places to torture where you can kill somebody undisturbed.”
Jericho’s gaze grew intense. “I’m serious. I don’t care if he’s a cop. He’s going to die.”
Atticus shrugged, pulling his phone free to check his work emails. “You think I give a shit if he’s a cop? We’ve dropped pretty much every kind of body by now from priests to politicians. We just can’t leave him in the woods for the animals to scavenge like the last couple of times. We’ll need to be more strategic, maybe dismembering. I know a place for that.”
Jericho arched a brow. “You could act less excited about the prospect of murdering my ex.”
Atticus scoffed. “If it was Kendra? If you had proof that Kendra was somehow involved with murdering innocent girls you wouldn’t happily eviscerate her?”
Jericho sighed dramatically. “That’s fair. But we’re only killing him if he’s somehow involved in what happened to my sister.”
“I can’t guarantee that,” Atticus said. “If my father finds out he’s involved in something shady—even if it has nothing to do with Mercy—there’s a very good chance he could end up on the wrong side of one of my brothers.”
Jericho thudded his head against the back of his seat. “His mom used to go to the same church as my parents.”
Atticus gave him a flat stare. “It doesn’t make him a better person. We both know he’s involved in something shady. He was too evasive. Best case scenario, he’s a dirty cop looking the other way for a gang that traffics humans and drugs. Worst case scenario, he was put into the department just to clean up any messes when whatever they’re doing doesn’t go according to plan, which means this is a way bigger…something.”
After a minute, Jericho said, “Admit it, part of you just wants him dead.”
Atticus could feel his lip curling. “Where does a guy even find sweaters that tight? Is that what you’re into? All muscles and no brains?”
Jericho chuckled. “You really are jealous, Freckles.”
Atticus stared out the windshield at the sea of cars.“Shut up.”
Atticus jumped as Jericho’s hand landed on his thigh, sliding dangerously higher. “I like it. It’s hot seeing you get all flustered and possessive. Especially when it leads to you on your knees for me. You look so fucking good on your knees for me.”
Atticus flushed to the tips of his ears, hating the way his knees fell open, giving Jericho more access, disappointed when his hand retreated.
But when Jericho placed that same hand, palm up, on the seat between them, Atticus didn’t hesitate to place his own on top, threading their fingers together.
After a while, he said, “I’ll call Calliope as soon as we’re home.”
Home. Their home? His home? He didn’t even know anymore. For once in his life, he didn’t want to overthink it, didn’t want anybody studying it or examining it for flaws or potential pitfalls. He and Jericho—whatever they were—was theirs, just theirs, and nobody was going to intrude on that.
Nobody.
Except maybe Felix.
