Everything had been hectic since the NGPD had stolen a high-interest murder case out from under the state troopers, and the staties were pissed off about it. The city had been throwing every extra person they had at the case, which didn’t make it easy to do my own snooping around, but I’d managed to squeeze it in.
Mostly I was just curious about what Aramis would do next. I studied him as he sat, slouching and projecting sadness, on a stacked stone wall outside of the New Gothenburg City Library. The late-morning sun glinted off his shiny dark hair, and the gray limestone blocks that made up the library’s facade sparkled. Despite the fact that Aramis was homeless, he always looked perfect. The guy was a great actor when he put in some effort. He couldn’t appear more distraught if he tried, and he was so stunning everyone who passed him stopped to give him a once-over. I wasn’t certain, but I thought he was hunting... waiting to see who would take the bait.
And it was artful to watch him in action—predator surrounded by prey. He slowly turned pages in a book, then gazed at the sky, for all the world not seeming like he noticed a single thing around himself, but every once in a while his gaze would find my truck where it was parked in the nearby lot with me in it.
He knew I was observing him, and occasionally he would flash a secret smile in my direction.
My cock had been flirting with a hard-on for the past hour because I knew, deep in my soul, exactly what he was fucking doing: setting a trap to catch a fly. With a few words he’d already turned away a pretty woman with a trim waist and wide hips that perfectly filled out a strappy pink summer dress, and he’d done the same for a teen boy with floppy blond hair and glasses who seemed to be close to his age. Aramis must be searching for a specific type of victim. He took a bottle of water out of his bag, then chugged until it was empty. The way he tipped his head back, chasing the last drops, was a practiced moved to show off his body.
A tall, thin man approached Aramis and pointed at him, appearing to ask something, to which Aramis nodded in reply. Irritation clenched my jaw as the man smiled and walked closer to Aramis, patting his thigh. The man’s hand lingered. I memorized his appearance—a nice blue suit, cut to make him seem more bulked up than he probably was, and curling salt-and-pepper hair. The man rubbed higher on Aramis’s thigh, and Aramis nodded again. With a wide, innocent smile full of fake sugar, he followed the man in the suit.
They walked along the sidewalk toward me—and the parking lot. I picked up my phone to pretend I was doomscrolling. Aramis led the little parade, and as he went past my window, he caught my eye and gave me a tiny smile I thought was real. He was having a good time. I looked back at my phone and ignored the man trailing after him. Once they were past, I glanced in my side mirror. Aramis climbed into the passenger side of a black Kia Telluride. Humming, I started my truck, which was a hell of a lot cheaper and a boring blue, as they left the parking lot.
My heart hammered as I began to tail the vehicle.
Electric tingles danced in my belly. In my own way, I was hunting, too. I’d tried to talk myself out of doing this earlier, but there was something about Aramis that made my mind keep coming back to him over and over again, and I so frequently denied myself what I wanted. I couldn’t stop tracking Aramis in my free time.
Uneasily I allowed a couple of cars to get between me and the SUV. I didn’t want to lose them, but then a new problem entered the equation as the SUV turned toward Vert Island.
My blood ran cold.
He couldn’t kill someonethere. No one got scared like rich people, and they would raise hell and throw money at the situation until Aramis was caught. Panicking, I followed the SUV across the toll bridge and stayed behind it. The vehicle glided along the smooth, perfect roads in the richest neighborhood in New Gothenburg, and eventually the driver stopped the vehicle in front of a tall wooden gate and waited for it to ponderously swing open, then turned. Whoever owned the swanky house hidden inside was cautious because the gate closed again.
“Fuck.” I pounded the steering wheel. There was nowhere to park without being conspicuous. Cursing under my breath, I drove a bit farther down the street until I saw a small grocery store next to a candy shop—the type of places where I could blow my life’s savings in one trip. Holding my breath, I stopped because I wasn’t confident there would be anyplace better. The parking lot was tiny, but I put my truck in a spot and got out. There was a chance someone in the store or candy shop might have my truck towed if I was gone too long, especially here on Vert Island, but it was a risk I was willing to take.
With my heart in my throat, I walked back to the wooden gate Aramis had disappeared through with that man. The sandstone block wall surrounding the grounds was low enough I was able to snag the top and hoist myself up and over, and I grunted when I landed on the other side.
The house was big and made from the same stone as the wall but wasn’t one of the obscene houses on the island. It was only two stories; however, the building sprawled, and the round port windows, which were probably taller than me, seemed like the type of thing that would be expensive to replace. If I never spent another dollar I earned for the rest of my life, I could probably afford a down payment. I stood and let out a long breath.
Please let the dirtbag who picked up Aramis be breathing. We can’t have a murder investigation here.
There were cameras all over the place on the island, and I was willing to bet it would take less than twenty minutes to spot my vehicle if a detective from one of the NG stations started snooping around—and there would be no one to help me if the FBI or worse got involved. People on Vert Island had scary connections. Hewouldbe caught. I might get into trouble. My groin tightened and I let out a shaky breath.
I’d told Aramis to leave town, but even though I was paranoid and worried, I was also excited. This was the most fun I’d had in years. I walked casually toward the house. There was a detached garage with a covered walkway on the right side, and I took my chances, going around to jostle the solid wooden door that matched the front gate. When I wrapped my palm in my shirt and twisted the knob, it was unlocked, and I held my breath as the door swung inward. I was willing to bet Aramis went through last... and maybe even knew I was right on his ass.
Sneaking into the house, I found myself in a wide hallway that ran both directions. Artwork of landscapes hung on the walls, and I passed a credenza full of family photos—the man in the suit had his arms around a woman, kids at piano recitals and ball games. It was a real extravaganza of wholesomeness. Why was Mr. Family Man picking up homeless men outside the library during work hours?
Electricity sizzled under my skin. I’d broken into houses a lot when I was younger just for the thrill. I liked going through other people’s things and seeing what they kept hidden from the world. A sweet, nostalgic pleasure rushed through me as I listened intently. I cocked my head to the side and thought I heard something to my left, so I went that way. The hallway led to a main foyer, where there was a central staircase. Sunshine slanted through one of those big port windows and hit a chandelier, sending fiery sparks to twinkle around the room. My belly heated and I could hear my heart in my ears.
“Aramis, where are you?” I whispered, then followed the sounds upstairs and along a carpeted hallway. Once I was closer to an open door, I realized that I was hearing sobbing, which was abruptly cut off, then started again. Then stopped. It was a rhythm as natural as waves on a shore.
When I made it to the doorway, I found a beautiful sight. Aramis sat on the man in the middle of a king-sized bed with his shirt off—his victim’s naked legs kicked.
“You can’t see from back there,” he said, and when I glanced around the room I met his gaze in the mirror over a wide oak dresser. His eyes burned holes through me and set my world on fire. I wanted to run to him. Aramis had his shirt twisted around the neck of his victim. I watched his strong back as he strained, though not much, to make the shirt tighter.
“Let him go,” I said softly.
Aramis glanced over his shoulder at me and licked his full lips. His long dark hair was everywhere, but it looked good and made me want to go over there and run my fingers through it.
“No.”
“Yes. Let him go. You can’t do this on Vert Island.”
He bit his lip, and my fingers twitched to touch the abused flesh. With a shrug, his muscles relaxed—he still held on to the fabric. “He deserves it,” he whispered, and the breathy words had a seductive lilt that went straight to my balls. “Are you sure? I want to kill him.”
“Yes. Stop,” I said, and this time I made certain I sounded serious.
He let go of the shirt, and when I went over to the bed, the man lay still. I didn’t like that the asshole was naked, even though Aramis was mostly clothed. It left a bad taste in my mouth. “Is he dead?”
