People like that fucking private investigator picked up on that sort of shit.
Holden slurped his boba. He needed to stay calm. Matthew Bishop may have taken Holden’s first kill right from under him, but that was no reason to get angry.
Holden had more interesting prey now.
Oh, speaking of prey.
A familiar expensive car pulled up in the nearby parking lot, and a familiar skinny figure disembarked from the passenger seat. A strong hand caught the young man before he could get far, dragging him halfway back into the car for…
Holden couldn’t see exactly. His imagination filled in the blanks. He liked the thought of Kit being manhandled and kissed breathless, but hated that James Zhou was the one doing it.
He stood unhurriedly, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Throwing his empty boba cup away gave him an excuse to turn around, so Kit couldn’t see his face as he walked by. Holden stooped to re-lace one shoe, too, giving the expensive car time to drive away.
Ready. Holden straightened up, hands in his pockets, and followed Kit across the mall.
17
“I’m definitely, totally flirting with you.”
Kit had told James he knew exactly where to start on the investigation. But two hours into his trip to the mall, Kit had to admit to himself that all he had was the stupidest plan in the history of plans.
He knew exactly one San Corvo University student.
And by knew, Kit meant he met the guy for five seconds at the public library, and mentally called him Man Bun. Because Kit didn’t even know the guy’s name.
Staking out the library was a bust in terms of casually, coincidentally running into Man Bun. But the library did have a bulletin board with fliers for local community events. Kit grabbed a flier for a candlelight vigil for Marco Fernandez, folded it carefully, and slid it into his pocket. The event was scheduled for next week, and Kit could probably meet some people there. As long as there weren’t too many cops lurking around with the same exact idea.
Waiting in line at a nearby ladybug-themed coffee shop, Kit traced the edge of the flier inside his pocket. There were vigils like this for James’s family. For countless dead little boys and girls, and people who used to be little boys or girls or whatever. Kit liked the idea of vigils, maybe. He understood why James didn’t—vigils and candles and prayers and heartfelt words neversolved the Zhou family massacre. Kit thought of vigils with a wistful, guilty sort of envy.
If Kit had died as a child, only his killer would have held a vigil for him.
Kit exhaled, re-centering himself in the here and now of the weird ladybug coffee shop. Even the walls were red with black spots, and the baristas all had ladybug-printed aprons on. The menu was comfortingly basic, though. No bugs in the lattes.
Should he attribute his upcoming giant sugary mocha to his first ever private investigation paycheck? Or let his benefactor boyfriend James pay for it? Or Kit could submit it to Bishop as a business expense. Each of the options held its own appeal.
James could pay for this sugary monstrosity, Kit decided, and rattled off his order to Loretta, the dead-eyed goth barista in her ladybug apron.
“And an extra shot of espresso,” Kit finished.
“Will that be all,” Loretta said, without any change in inflection to indicate a question.
Kit peered at the display case. “Can I get a chocolate croissant too?”
“You bet.” Loretta’s black, talon-like fingernails tapped the register. “Swipe or tap or whatever. What’s the name for the order.”
Before Kit could answer or fish his wallet out of his jeans, someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, let me get that for you.”
Kit jerked around and looked up—way up—at the very man he had been looking for. Rumpled university t-shirt, check. Really nice, lean-muscled arms, check. Truly excessive blond hair tied up in a bun, check.
“What?” Kit asked brilliantly, too stunned to remember what Man Bun had said.
“Let me get that for you,” Man Bun said, eyes crinkling in a smile. The sunny expression was blinding.
Loretta tapped the counter. “Whoever’s paying should hurry up. We have other customers.”
There actually wasn’t anyone behind Kit and Man Bun in line.
“Sure,” Kit managed. “If you want to?”
