His eyes widen further, and his footsteps are wobbly as we escort him back to his creep cave.
Chapter fourteen
Kendrick
The boxes of evidenceand information that we packed up at the creep’s house are the most depressing shit I’ve ever seen.
“Even if he didn’t kill her,” Six says, grimacing and dropping another photo on the dining table we’ve got everything spread over, “he needs therapy or something; fucking hell.”
“Or something,” Spencer mutters. He stopped looking at anything a good twenty minutes ago, lounging cross-legged on his chair with an iced coffee from McDonald’s instead. He’s wearing his glasses, through my insistence, and it’s taking everything in me not to yank him into my lap. The sexy-librarian look is really doing it for me. “I’m hungry.”
“The fact that you can look at all this and still be hungry meansyouneed therapy,” Moira says. She shoves a bunch of photos back into their envelope and drops them on the pile at the end of the table. “This guy needed a different hobby. A better one.”
“My stomach doesn’t discriminate.”
“Hunter should be back soon,” I say, plucking out a notebook. It took the four of us hours to clean out the guy’s room after Greer arrested him. A dozen boxes filled with his sick fixation.
As if on cue, our boss pushes through the front door, carrying bags of Subway. Jericho comes in after him, carrying a tray of takeaway drinks. Whatever bun he had his hair in is falling out, with half of it across his forehead and in his bright-blue eyes—contacts; his real colour’s brown.
“We bring sustenance,” Jericho says loudly. “Now, someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“What isn’t going on,” Six replies.
“Nice glasses, Spence, they’re very ‘schoolteacher.’ When’d you start wearing those?”
It’s giving me library fantasies, not a classroom. Jericho can get his own fantasies. Doesn’t one of his boyfriends wear glasses? Sebastian, the lawyer that Spencer keeps hanging around? His connection to Jericho is the only reason I haven’t killed him. He wears glasses, I’m fairly confident.
“Kendrick made me,” Spencer says, pouting.
Jericho gives me a look that says he knows why. He only has it half right. Spencer should be wearing them regardless, whenever he’s reading.
“How was your sex-fest holiday?” Six asks with a leering grin.
“Fucking fantastic.” Jericho kicks out a chair and drops into it. “You should think about taking some time off.”
“Try telling that to Greer.”
“Don’t you, like, boss him around?” Spencer asks. I pull out a chicken teriyaki sub and unwrap the top, giving Spencer a bite before taking one of my own.
Moira swipes the macadamia cookie first. “Yeah, Six, put him on his knees and tell him how it is.”
“I have so many questions about what you two think happens between Greer and me.” Six grins, pulling out a piece of baconand eating it by itself. “I steer clear of giving him any orders about his day job if I can help it. He doesn’t take kindly to me ‘poking your nose in shit that doesn’t have anything to do with you.’”
“That sounds verbatim.” I bet it is. Greer isn’t one to pull his punches or monitor how his words may be misconstrued. In fact, half the time hewantsthem to be taken the wrong way. He thrives on being an asshole.
“Oh, it was. And he knows not to say it again, but I got the point.”
Jericho snorts out a laugh.
Spencer wraps his fingers around my wrist and brings my sub back to his mouth so he can eat more. There’s a drop of sauce on the corner of his mouth, so I lick it off with a flick of my tongue. He turns his head and kisses me, lips moving as he chews. Once he swallows, he opens for me, letting me taste. It’s better than the source.
“Greer’s on his way with some information about your man Trine,” Hunter says. He carefully unwraps his own food—a wrap, not a sub—always so neat when eating. “Before you leave, Six, I need to speak to you and Moira about what you’re working on at the moment. There are some new facts you’ll want to know.”
Six nods. He steadily makes his way through his first sub and then starts on his second, putting away a terrifying amount of food in short order.
“I think you have an admirer, Hunter,” Spencer says with a snicker. He turns one of the subs around, and right there on the paper is a phone number.
I whistle low. “Nice. It’s about time you got out there.”
