“I see how you bought into what’s obviously an elaborate frame job,” Noah challenged.
“As soon as you can produce some evidence to the contrary, I’ll be happy to listen.”
“What about my gut, huh?”
“No.”
“But you really are bringing him here alive?”
“Yes. My friends from Strassen Springs should be here the day after tomorrow. If they find him, he will be alive, I promise you.”
“Because you’re gonna kill him.”
“I’m willing to hear him out. If he has any information to share that might change my mind, I will listen.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Noah tensed.
“Well…” Alistair let the word hang, his answer clear.
“You still expect me to be your boy if you do that shit?”
“I expect nothing. That way I’m never disappointed.” Alistair curled their fingers together. “However, I do hope you’re right.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
The silence that followed wasn’t wholly uncomfortable, but Noah was trying to process this new information while his brain was still spinning.
If this was a setup, it was a hell of a good one.
Someone would need access to the house, to Patrick’s car, and his damn fingerprints. That was a long list, considering how many employees they once had. It wasn’t like Noah paid that much attention to whoever was running in and out of here. He usually had his fun at his dates’ places or hotels, and he only came home to sober up and shower.
He would need to talk to someone who was there a lot, maybe an employee…
Jamie and Frida!
They were the only employees left since Alistair had gotten rid of everybody else. Noah knew they’d worked for his family since maybe even before his parents had died.
Somewhere in between partying and hosting Alistair’s friends from Strassen Springs, he had to find a chance to chat with Jamie and Frida. Jamie and Frida, who supposedly hated him and his uncle, could possibly have the information Noah needed to find another suspect and prove his uncle was innocent.
It seemed like Alistair’s concrete position on the matter was weakening, but Noah needed more than seeding some doubt.
He needed evidence. A name. Something.
Focusing on solving a murder was going to have to wait, however, because Alistair had picked up a sponge and started bathing Noah. He was slow, gentle, scrubbing over Noah’s arms and shoulders, around the front of his neck and down his chest.
The attention was unhurried, loving, and Noah was again surprised by how intimate it felt. He didn’t know he could be this close to someone without actively screwing around, and he was eating every moment of it up.
It was relaxing, soon threatening to send Noah right to sleep. As he drifted back off, warm and happy in Alistair’s arms, his stomach suddenly growled.
It was loud enough for Alistair to hear because he said, “Ah, time to eat, hmm?”
“Mmm, yeah. Sorry.” Noah’s eyes fluttered open. “Yeah. Eggs and bacon, right?”
“Of course.”
Out of the tub they went, and Alistair dried Noah off with the same level of care that he’d bathed him with before, wrapping him in a plush robe. He put a silk one on for himself and offered Noah his arm. Downstairs they went, passing a snoozing Junior and a very awake Crybaby standing guard at the door.
Crybaby left Junior where he was sleeping on the floor and followed Noah and Alistair as they made their way to the kitchen. They passed several more sleeping people, party guests who were crashing and sought refuge on the floors, furniture, and anywhere else they could find.
