His First Surrender (Stonewall Investigations Miami Book 3) Read online

  And what if he’s out here?

  “Is Jesse home?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He was probably getting ready to jerk off or something. Want to talk to him?”

  I nodded, spotting a couple more freckles on Sam’s neck. He ran a hand through his unruly head of light brown hair, pushing some of the thick strands off his forehead.

  “All right,” he said. He turned and opened the door, stepping in and letting out a breath of surprise. I followed him, instantly spotting who’d caught him off guard.

  The man who I assumed was Jesse stood in the hall separating the bedrooms. He looked surprised to see us, his owl-like black eyes held wide open, his mouth slightly gaping. “Oh hey,” he said, taking a few steps toward us. “Um, need anything?”

  Jesse looked about the same age as Sam but had an entirely different energy about him. His eyes darted all around us but never settled on either. He wore a baggy gray T-shirt and a pair of stained blue sleeping shorts. His head was buzzed down practically to the skin, and when he offered us a weak smile, I could see his teeth were closer to piss yellow than ivory white.

  “This is—”

  “I’m Detective Hudson with Stonewall Investigations.” I stepped forward and offered a hand.

  “Hi… Detective?” Jesse didn’t shake. I put my hand down, and Sam cleared his throat behind me.

  “I’m here because your roommate Hazel thinks someone is stealing her things. I like to start from the inside and work my way out, so I wanted to ask both you and Sam some questions about it.”

  Jesse shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told her, I don’t have anything to do with her things going missing.”

  “What’s your relationship with Hazel like?”

  “It’s fine. We’re just roommates. I barely really talk to her, or you, Sam. I just mind my own damn business.”

  “So would you mind if I just take a quick look around?”

  Jesse reeled back. “What? No, you’re not looking around. Not my room at least. Actually, I don’t even have time for this. I have to go.” With a huff of annoyed air, he turned and walked into his room, slamming the door shut and locking it. I looked to Sam, who just shrugged and rolled his eyes. He adjusted the glasses so that they sat higher on his nose.

  “You can look around the apartment,” he said. “Check my room if you want. You’ll see I’m not hiding anything.”

  Part of me, a part that was buried miles-deep underneath all the scar tissue that covered me, that part wanted to believe Sam whole-heartedly. Something about him made my instincts scream at the top of their lungs, You can trust him. He’s a good one.

  Too fucking bad I didn’t trust anyone, not even my own instincts.

  I started looking around their cramped living room, spotting signs of each of them everywhere I looked. There were a pair of discarded red heels by the door, sitting next to a pair of muddy old tennis shoes. I could see the indentations on the old black couch where Hazel and Sam most likely sat, watching trash television on the old TV set hitched up precariously on the eggshell-white wall. There wasn’t much natural light coming in, so I flicked on the two floor lamps, shedding an orange glow on everything.

  In the kitchen, their refrigerator was covered in photos and postcards and a couple of wedding invitations. Most of the photos were of Sam and Hazel with friends of theirs. Only two photos had Jesse in them. They were group photos, and he had been delegated to the farthest corner of the group, barely in the shot. It was obvious to me that Jesse didn’t fit in with the pair, and that made me even more inclined to believe Sam when he said he had nothing to do with it.

  “Do you want water or anything?”

  I turned to face Sam. He leaned against the wall, staring at me with a curious look on his face. Like someone who’d just unearthed a strange rock. Like he was turning me over in his mind, trying to figure me out.

  “I’m good.” I licked my lips, realizing how dry they were.

  “Beer?” Sam offered, his kindness showing.

  “Sure,” I said. “Why not.”

  Sam walked around me and opened the fridge. “So,” he asked, “live around here?” I could tell he was a little on edge with my presence.

  “Not too far. I live in Coral Gables.”

  “Oh nice, my uncle lives there. They’ve got some beautiful houses in that neighborhood. He’d take me walking when I was a kid, and we’d give them all stories.”

  He grabbed two bottles of Stellas. He set them on the pastel-yellow counters and opened a drawer full of different kitchen utensils.

  “There was always this one house. It had a mailbox with a manatee wearing a top hat, and the manatee looked half-drunk, half-drugged. I always said a weird magician lived in there.”

  “You’re actually not far off. The man who lives there owns a company that throws kid parties. I’ve seen him walk out dressed like a clown, a magician, a cowboy.”

  “Wait… you’ve seen him?”

  “He’s my neighbor.”

  Sam’s jaw dropped. “No fucking way. Really? Huh, that’s crazy.”

  “It is. I figured you were talking about the house across from mine the second you said ‘manatee.’”

  Sam, still appearing to be in slight disbelief, rummaged around the drawer until he found the beer opener.

  The kitchen was small, forcing us to be close. Forcing me to take a deep breath and to stop imagining what it would feel like if I pressed Sam up against the counter and started kissing the back of his neck.

  Fuck.

  I really need to get fucked.

  Sex wasn’t always a constant thought for me. Even though I thrived off great sex, and definitely craved it more often than not, I wasn’t one to lose my cool and start imagining myself rubbing up on someone I’d just met, especially not when I was working a case.

  But, well, here we are.

  “Here,” Sam said, handing me the cold beer. He raised his in the air. We clinked. “To figuring this shit out.”

  I offered a smile and took a chug. The beer definitely helped with the dryness in my mouth, but it didn’t help in dousing the growing flames inside my core.

  “All right.” Sam looked around the small kitchen. “If you’re done in here, I guess I can show you my bedroom.”

  Exactly what my revved-up sex drive wanted to hear right now. I had to remind myself that even though I was here with a beer in my hand and a sexy barefoot guy only inches away from me, I was working. And it didn’t matter that Hazel wasn’t paying me, I still wanted to do the damned best I could to help her.

  I followed Sam to his bedroom, drinking the beer, keeping my eyes from falling to the ass that was eating up his gym shorts like a five-star meal.

  He stepped into his room and opened his arms, twirling and offering a sarcastic smile.

  “This is it, where the magic comes to die.”

  I laughed at that, surprised at the sound. “You’ve got jokes.”

  “Yup. Jokes and a crippling student loan debt. Those are about the only two things I’ve got.”

  More laughter. “Well, you’ve got great taste in movies, so there’s that.” I pointed at the poster of Bridesmaids on the wall, a big blast of pink taped onto his light blue wall, just above his twin-sized bed.

  “No kidding? You like Bridesmaids, too?”

  It’s one of my favorite movies. “Yeah. I watch it if it’s on TV.”

  Sam nodded with pursed lips, looking impressed. “I actually got that from one of my subscribers. It’s signed by Kristin Wiig, down there at the bottom.”

  “Subscribers?” I asked, leaning in to check out the signature.

  “Oh, I stream video games. I’m not famous or anything, but I’ve got a couple, eh, regulars? Shelly from Toronto sent me the poster after I did a rapid-fire round of questions. Apparently Kristin Wiig is her cousin? I don’t know, but I freaking love it.”

  “What kind of games do you play?”

  He seemed a little taken aback by the
question. Like he wasn’t expecting me to dig any deeper.

  “Mostly MMORPGs. They’re massi—”

  “I know what they are.”

  “Oh.”

  Shit. I didn’t mean to be that blunt.

  Sam looked down at his feet. I could feel the flames in my core firing me up. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just…”

  Before I could even start with an explanation, before I could even say my brother’s name, something hot pink and lacy caught my eye. It was coming out from under the corner of Sam’s mattress. He followed my gaze and gave a confused sound as I walked toward it, recognizing that they were a pair of panties.

  “What the…” Sam looked from the panties to me, his eyes wide under the glasses. “Those can’t be… I never…”

  I lifted Sam’s mattress. He took in a sharp breath of air, but I remained calm. Laid out underneath the box spring were seven pairs of panties, different colors and fabrics but all the same size and same description that Hazel had given me. These were hers. Sam had lied to me, and to Hazel.

  “Detective, I don’t… I don’t know how those got there. I swear on my life, I really don’t.”

  This was exactly what I’d been expecting. Even though my gut had been shouting at me to blindly trust him from the jump, I knew I would have been falling straight into his trap. I wasn’t that dumb. He could bat those long eyelashes and wring his soft hands all he wanted, but I had all the proof I needed.

  So why the fuck do I still want to grab him and kiss him and tell him to calm the fuck down and that it’ll be all right?

  5

  Sam Clark

  I could feel all the blood slowly drain from my body. My face must have been see-through. You could have probably traced all the little veins and capillaries and made a cute little art project out of my pale-as-tits face. The shock not only drained me of color, but also drained me of any mental faculties I had. My brain went haywire as I looked down at the colorful underwear, laid out as if they were all taunting me.

  “I didn’t do that,” I managed to spit out past the cotton balls that now filled my throat.

  Detective McSteamy currently looked from the underwear to me, a scowl on his face. I could tell he didn’t believe me, and why would he? The underwear might as well have spelled out the word “guilty” in all their lacy glory.

  “Sam.” He dropped the mattress, the underwear disappearing except for the pink one that hung off the corner, as if it were trying to escape this messed-up situation. “Tell me the truth. Why are you stealing your roommate’s panties?”

  “I didn’t steal them!” I started to feel desperate. It was the kind of desperation a terribly innocent person feels when the lens of suspicion turns to them.

  Through the loud and plentiful thoughts of shouting and running and crying, one thought pushed past all the others: “Jesse,” I said, feeling as if I’d just found the long-lost piece needed to complete the puzzle. “Jesse must have done this. When we were outside, he must have—”

  “Sam, they’re in your room. Under your bed. Is there anything else in here?”

  “No! I swear. Please, you’ve got to believe me. Jesse must have dumped them all in here.”

  The way the detective looked at me told me everything I needed to know.

  I had to get Jesse in here. Had to let Rocky—the detective—see how guilty Jesse was. This had to have been him.

  I hurried out of the room and slammed a fist on Jesse’s closed door. “Open up! Open the damn door, you creep.”

  Rocky put a hand on my shoulder. I jumped, lurching away. He stood in the hall, taking up the entire space. He stood a good six inches taller than me. I craned my neck to look directly into his eyes, trying hard not to back down even though I felt like curling up into a ball and going to sleep.

  “Why, Sam?”

  No, no, no.

  “No.” I covered my face with my hands, took a deep breath. Then another. “No,” I repeated.

  “I’ll have to tell Hazel,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “Just get out.” The words flew out of me like a fireball from the maw of a dying dragon. “Go.”

  I felt stupid. I felt so fucking dumb. I should have never let this man into my apartment. I should have never thought he’d be on my side, I shouldn’t have ever let myself imagine what he’d feel like pressed up against me. How those lips would taste against my tongue.

  I felt so, so stupid.

  “Just tell me why.”

  “You’re not doing that. You’re not going to coerce me into saying what you want to hear. I didn’t do it. That wasn’t me. Now go.” I moved toward him. For a moment, I feared an electric shock would jump from him to me, sending me launching through the air.

  Nothing happened. The electricity in the space between us didn’t react, and neither did he. He just stood there, those swirling blue eyes still spelling out paradise, even though a storm rocked the horizon.

  Was he believing me?

  Or was he just searching for a weak spot in my armor?

  Jesse opened the door then. “What the hell?”

  I turned on him, angrier than I’d ever felt before. “How dare you. You’re sick. You’re fucking sick.”

  Jesse, who had changed into a pair of ill-fitting dark jeans and a tight black shirt, stepped forward, his hands turning to fists at his side. “Fuck. You.”

  The anger radiated from him. I instantly shrank back, feeling myself already biting off more than I could chew. Conflict was never my thing. The only battles I liked fighting were behind my computer screen, where magic and swords ruled over words and fists.

  “Jesse, back off.”

  It was Rocky. He sounded like a dog trainer breaking through to an aggressive rottweiler, turning it into a tail-wagging pup. His words were direct, his tone strong.

  Jesse looked to Rocky and then to me. He pushed past the detective and went toward the door, grabbing his keys off the table before leaving the apartment, the door slamming behind him and shaking the thin walls.

  “Do you believe me now?” I asked, feeling a little light-headed.

  There wasn’t an answer. I realized he didn’t. He still thought I was the one responsible for stealing the underwear.

  “Go.” I put a hand on my mouth, then moved it to the back of my neck, squeezing. “Go.”

  Rocky, to his credit, turned and started walking.

  “I didn’t do it.” I felt like I needed to drill that point home. It scared me that someone would actually think I was capable of such a disgusting act. And what if I couldn’t convince the detective that I was innocent? What if Hazel believed him? My entire life would be ruined. I wouldn’t be able to come back from something like that.

  “Please.”

  Rocky stopped. He faced the door, his back to me. He dropped his head, and I could almost feel the torrent of thoughts inside there. Even without those icy blue orbs on me, I already knew they danced with doubt.

  “I’ve got to look into it more.”

  I let out an exasperated breath. Did I have to drop to my knees? Crawl and beg? I would have. I would have done it in a heartbeat.

  But he didn’t give me a chance. He walked out the door, and this time it didn’t slam. It shut, almost quietly, leaving me alone in the apartment, the walls feeling as if they had suddenly all caught fire.

  I foolishly expected to feel relief wash over me. From the moment Rocky Hudson showed up at my door, things turned to shit. I expected him leaving would make everything suddenly better.

  But there was another side to the rusty shit-covered coin. One that glittered with a substance I couldn’t quite name yet. Something undiscovered until now. It was a side that intrigued me in a way I’d never felt before. Which, considering I never really felt anything before, had to mean something.

  Why do I want him back here?

  It scared me, blocking any kind of relief that I’d been expecting. I couldn’t understand why I felt such a draw toward the detective, even though
he clearly thought I was some kind of weird panty-sniffing troll.

  I closed my eyes, rubbed the bridge of my nose. This was bad.

  Hazel. I had to call her. Had to do it before Rocky did.

  I ran to my bedroom, the pink underwear practically shouting at me as I entered. I ignored it and snatched my phone off the dresser.

  “Hey, Sam.”

  “Hazel, where are you right now?”

  “At work. I can only talk for like three minutes.”

  “We’re going to need way more than that.” I looked at the underwear, my stomach churning. “Tell your boss I’m having an emergency. You’ve got to come home.”

  Thankfully, Hazel’s boss was one of the most considerate human beings to have ever walked this planet.

  Sure enough, Hazel texted me three minutes after we had hung up saying that she was on her way.

  It took her another fifteen to get home. In that time, I paced something that could only be described as crop circles into the tan living room carpet. So many different emotions were colliding inside me, the two main ones being anxiety and dread. But there were others, too. There was a calm assurance in thinking that Hazel would never believe I’d do something like that. I’d feel brief waves of peace, knowing that it would all get figured out in the end. And then I’d feel a sharp pang of excitement, imagining the stern-looking detective, with those ice-storm eyes of his, apologizing to me. I pictured him saying sorry and that he should have chased after Jesse from the start.

  Because I know it’s him. It has to be him.

  The excitement I felt picturing the apology would then morph, shaping into something else, something I couldn’t quite pinpoint. All I knew was that it made my body temperature shoot up about twenty-five degrees. It made me lick my lips without thinking, and had me feeling an ignition at the base of my spine.

  So yeah, I was going through a torrent of emotions by the time Hazel walked in through the door, her expression a mix of worry and confusion.

  “What happened?”

  I dove headfirst into the explanation, starting from the underwear and working my way down to the detective knocking on the door. Hazel stood there, her face shifting but only barely, her lips turned down into a disbelieving frown.