It took one more long moment.Then Jem ran his hand across his mouth, turned his head away, and muttered, “Fuck.”
He stalked over to the chair where Sawyer had been sitting, threw himself into it, and glared into the middle distance.
Mckell cleared her throat.“What happened?What’s going on?”
So, Tean told them.He told them about finding Gerald’s cane in the chalet.He told them about Stephen.He told them about the person with the gun, who had forced Tafton into the tree well.And he told them about Maeve and Milo disappearing from their room.
“How do we knowyoudidn’t kill Tafton?”Sawyer croaked.He was sitting up now, massaging his chest and glowering at Jem.
“Because someone almost killed Jem, too,” Tean said.“And if you don’t want to take my word for it, you can talk to Vaughan Larsen, the head of security.”
“He could be helping you,” Sawyer said, eyes sliding from side to side.When no one took him up on this idea, he mumbled, “You could all be in on it.”
Apparently, the rest of them realized this was too stupid to warrant further discussion.
“I bet it’s Gerald’s gun,” Quinn said.
“What do you mean?”Tean asked.
“Gerald had a concealed carry permit.He was always strapped.”
“Oh my God,” Beckett said.“Don’t say ‘strapped.’”
Quinn only laughed.“What?He was.”To Tean, he added, “He showed me one time.”
“Of course he did,” Beckett said.
“Okay,” Quinn said with a roll of his eyes.
“Because Quinn is so butch,” Beckett said.
“Thanks, babe,” Quinn said dryly.He flinched and froze as soon as he said it, and a blush flooded his face.
Either no one had noticed or no one cared, though, because after a beat of silence, Dean only said, “He showed me once too.We were talking about trying new hobbies.”He seemed to be trying not to look at Mckell when he added, “Like, masculine hobbies.”
“There’s no such thing as a masculine hobby,” Aiden said.“That plays into gendered stereotypes.”
“Yeah, well, sticking your dick in a woman is a gendered stereotype,” Jem said.
Tean raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t know,” Jem mumbled.“I’m in a weird headspace.”
“Gerald didn’t have a gun when the hotel staff found him,” Tean said.“Are you sure he would have been carrying one that night?”
“Hewascarrying that night,” Sawyer said.When they looked at him, he spent a few extra seconds massaging his chest, apparently to remind them that he was a victim.“You can see it.He always wears a suit, and the way the jacket falls—it’s right there.”
Tean glanced at Jem.The blond man was scratching his beard; his expression was somewhere between exhausted and morose.He didn’t have to say anything for Tean to know they were thinking the same thing: the killer had Gerald’s gun.
“That would explain,” Tean said slowly, “how the killer forced Tafton to write out that confession.And how he forced Tafton out into the storm.”He didn’t add that the gunshot he and Jem had heard that night had most likely been the final threat, to force Tafton into the tree well.
“So, it’d be nice,” Jem said, “if one of you could just fucking confess so we can get this over with.”
“But we didn’t do anything!”Aiden blurted.
Jem rolled a finger in the move-it-along gesture.
“We didn’t!”If anything, Aiden’s voice rose higher.“We all told you where we were.We have alibis.We didn’t do anything wrong!”
