He was fairly sure it was going to turn out to be the house that Hector Andrews’s family lost to the bank. If it was, that was a coincidence too many to ignore because of an alibi.
Cloister made a face at that idea because significant periods of Plenty’s official records hadn’t been reliably computerized. Extensive corruption among the town’s public officials meant a lot of people had things they didn’t want easily searchable. In addition to the incriminating evidence, a lot of fairly prosaic records were elided as well to make it harder to pinpoint what was being hidden. So it was going to be a few hours of arguing with the librarian and chasing red tape through old archival boxes.
“I’ll take the teenager,” Cloister surrendered. Then he hesitated and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He looked off-balance, unsure of himself. It was the first time Javi had seen that. Whatever else was going on around him, Cloister always seemed confident in the space his body inhabited.
“Look, last night….” Cloister let that hang.
It was the perfect opportunity to brush him off kindly but firmly. Javi didn’t do relationships. He had a career plotted out, and you didn’t make assistant director by crafting emotional compromises and weathering bad breakups. He already tried that. It ended badly. Predictably but badly. A ridiculously attractive smile that didn’t belong on that rough face or the spray of freckles on a nice ass weren’t good reasons to change that policy.
Except… an arrangement wasn’t a relationship. It was obvious that Cloister wasn’t the type to get attached. He was a grown man with a substantial paycheck who chose to live in a house that could be towed away. That screamed flight risk.
“Last night was—” Halfway through the sentence and Javi wasn’tsurewhat way he was going.
Before he had to make up his mind, Tancredi burst out of the doors behind them and into Cloister’s back. It didn’t move Cloister much, but the impact made Bourneville jump. Her ears went down, giving her narrow skull a snakelike look, and her lips wrinkled back in a snarl that bared a lot of very sharp teeth.
For a second, Javi felt a visceral cringe that started in his gut and went up into his chest. His imagination had run ahead of itself, already a minute in the future with Tancredi’s face degloved and half-eaten, and he wasn’t sure if calling for an ambulance would be a kindness or not.
Cloister jerked Bourneville’s lead back, choking off the snarl, and snapped out, “Lass es. Bourneville, Lass.”
The dog visibly unclenched at the command, and the quivering violence drained out of her lean, heavy body. She unflattened her ears and whined apologetically at Cloister.
Javi felt heat twist in his groin. The contrast between the hard command in Cloister’s voicenowand the easy submission of his bodythentugged a wire of want through him. The dark, honeyed idea of him surrendering even wriggled through his head, rough hands and rougher commands on his body as Javi just… unclenched.
The brief image was unexpectedly potent—a shot of heat straight to his groin. It wasn’t something he’d ever do, but he still stored the brief fantasy away for later.
“What the hell, Tancredi?” Cloister said. He sounded annoyed, but not nearly scared enough to Javi’s mind. “You want sick leave while they stitch your fingers back on?”
Tancredi took a discreet step back, her face a bit paler than usual. “No… umm… sorry. We just got a call, though, I knew you’d want it.”
“What?” Javi asked.
She looked at him, and regret and interest jostled for primacy over her expression. “It’s the Hartleys. They were getting ready to leave the Retreat, head back home, when Billy Hartley went missing. They’ve been looking for hours, but they can’t find him.”
JAVI BRACEDhis arm against the dashboard as Cloister hammered the gas along the rutted country roads. The car swung around one corner tightly enough that he felt the tires jolt off the road as sandy dirt sprayed up against the paintwork.
“Are you sure she’s secure back there?” Javi asked, pitching his voice over the wail of the siren. He cocked his head to check the sliver of rearview mirror he could see. Bourneville’s harness looked more secure than his seatbelt, but he could still see the imagined ruin of Tancredi’s face in his mind.
Maybe his sex life was limited enough at the moment that he was considering an arrangement based on nothing but geographical proximity. His libido stirred back there with the disturbing, sticky fantasies of heavy scarred bodies and various shades of surrender. It mocked him, but that would change. He didn’t want to try to negotiate the queer dating scene with a face that looked like a badly put-together jigsaw puzzle. He didn’t have the personality to get away with not being pretty.
“She’s fine,” Cloister said impatiently. He took his eyes off the road long enough to look over at Javi. “Bourneville wasn’t going for Tancredi.”
“Not what it looked like to me.”
“If she’d been attacking, it wouldn’t have been so easy to pull her back,” Cloister said. “Tancredi startled us. Bon went on the defensive.”
“So there was no danger?”
“Of course there was,” Cloister said bluntly. “But there’s probably less danger with Bon than with your neighbor’s ill-trained Labrador. The sheriff’s department has spent a lot of money on training her not to attack unless I give the nod. She’s still a dog, though, and dogs can bite.”
“Jesus,” Javi muttered. He didn’t take the Lord’s name in vain often—adult atheism had no traction against a childhood spent threatened with a bar of soap—but it felt appropriate. “You make pet owning sound like running a gauntlet.”
“Bon’s not a pet.” Cloister shrugged. He broke off for a second as they took another turn, and he spun the steering wheel. “She’s a good dog, and she’s never bitten anyone outside of the job, but it would be irresponsible of me to tell you she’s never going to. It would be like saying that if I’ve never shot anyone, it would be safe to leave my gun lying around the house.”
Javi snorted.
“I think I’ll stick to guns,” he said. “They’re more predictable and don’t need to be walked.”
This time the press had gotten there first in network affiliate vans and old cars. In response the Retreat had closed their gates, which pushed the reporters back onto the road. Reed had sent Matt down to stand guard. He looked hunched and uncomfortable as he pulled his hat down and tried to avoid the reporters’ attention.
