John

I'm in trouble.

That's what I think as I watch Martinez — or Carlos, rather — disappear up the stairs. I was already way too turned on by the sight of him in his underwear, and it seems like he gets more attractive every time I look at him. He's everything I like in a man, and maybe more.

He's got a masculine beauty, a mix of strength and vulnerability, that calls to me in dangerous ways. I want to protect and take care of him, and at the same time, I want to make him beg — make him cry and then kiss away his tears.

I blink and take a breath, clearing the image from my brain, and refocus on Mrs. Peters. The sour look on her face makes me wonder what telling thing she just saw on mine, and I clear my throat.

"How long had Kyle lived with you?" I ask.

"Since he was thirteen, when his parents died."

"Your brother and his wife."

"That's right."

"How did they die?"

Mrs. Peters shrugs. "It was their wedding anniversary. They left Kyle with me while they went out for a night of debauchery at a hotel. Only they never came back. Bloody inconsiderate of them, I thought. I thought they'd gone on a bender, you see. Gotten drunk and were simply sick and hungover. I wasn't worried. My brother and his wife weren't the most responsible people, you know."

"When did you report them missing?"

"As soon as I could, the following day."

"But they were never found."

"Vanished without a trace. Seven years later, they were declared legally dead."

"You think they're still alive?"

She shakes her head. "No. They weren't in any trouble, that I know of, and they loved their son. They wouldn't have abandoned Kyle — especially not with me."

"Why's that?"

She lifts her bony shoulders in a shrug and wraps her shawl around herself more tightly. "It was no secret Richard and I didn't want children."

"Richard — that's your husband?"

"Was my husband, yes."

"How did he die, if I may ask?"

"Richard died of a heart attack only a few weeks after Kyle came to stay with us. Well, falling down the stairs and breaking his neck is what killed him, but the heart attack was to blame. It was lucky I had Kyle, then. I don't know how I'd have managed without him. Don't know how I'll manage, now that he's gone, too."

She sniffs and wipes her eyes.

I make a note to look into the case of Kyle's parents. Four deaths — one murder for certain, two likely, and a fourth possible — all surrounding one person, raises suspicion. On the other hand, some families just get more than their fair share of bad luck, and no frail old woman murdered Kyle. Whoever strung him up under that bridge had to have been insanely strong.

Still, a good investigator leaves no stone unturned.

"Do you smoke, Mrs. Peters?" I ask, having detected a telltale scent in the air.

"I do." She nods. "My only vice."

"Any particular variety?"

"Marlboro Lights. Richard got me started on them. Why?"

I hesitate, then choose my words with care. "Some cigarettes were found with Kyle. Did he smoke?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't let him. He bought them for me, though. I'd asked him to pick me up a pack. That was why he had them, I imagine."

Internally, I swear. If that's the case, that's one lead down the drain. The killer might not smoke at all, and only used the cigarettes because they were convenient.

"Thank you, Mrs. Peters. You've been very helpful." I look towards the stairs, but Carlos has yet to reappear. "I'll just collect my partner and we'll be out of your hair."

Upstairs, I find a small landing and a narrow, dark hall, at the end of which a door stands open. Inside, Carlos sits at the foot of a narrow bed, hands resting on his knees and his eyes closed.

I knock on the open door and he looks up, fixing me with a limpid stare, his brown eyes bright and clear.

"Anything?"

He shakes his head. "Not a whiff of ghost here."

"Not much at all, by the look of it. Was your room this clean when you were twenty-two?"

He laughs, the expression lighting his face. "I'm about to turn twenty-seven, and my room's never been this clean."

I glance at him. I saw his age when I booked him at the station, but it was just a number on a form to me, then. Now, I can't help noticing the smoothness of his toffee-hued skin, the shine of his long brown hair, the five o' clock shadow darkening the clean line of his jaw, or the way his hands look both strong and delicate as he twists them in his lap.

I bite the inside of my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but the pain only feeds the fire. I need to get a handle on this fast.

I agreed to work with Martinez to catch a monster, but if I'm not careful, he'll unleash a monster of a different kind.

Turning my attention to the room, I rest my hands on my hips and sigh.

It looks like a spread from a catalog. Nothing out of place — from the bed covers you could bounce a quarter on to the matching throw pillows. There's a small desk, completely clean, with a gooseneck lamp and a little organizer for pens and pencils and things.

It's the most organized pen holder I've ever seen.

"Was Kyle... uh. I don't know the correct term, but did he have OCD, or something?"

Carlos looks up at me, fixing me with that beautiful, brown-eyed stare again. "No. OCD isn't like how it's depicted on TV, anyway. But no, Kyle was..." He looks around the room and blinks, as if just remembering where he is. "Kyle was a slob, frankly speaking. If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd never set foot in this room."

"Or the room's been wiped clean."

"You think Mrs. Peters climbed those stairs and changed the sheets herself? She can barely catch her breath sitting down."

"Maybe she had help."

I open my mouth and shut it again as my own words echo in my head.

Maybe she had help.

Everything had pointed to one killer — one person who lured the victim to his doom, strung him up, and tortured him to death. But what if it was more than one? What if there had been two?

"John? Are you okay?"

I blink, shake my head, and release my breath with a sigh. "Yeah. I'm fine. What do you say we get out of here now? Get something to eat."

"Sure thing. Whatever you say, boss."

He lowers his head submissively, and I hear something in his voice that makes me look at him — really look at him — for the first time; and God, but I want to fuck him right now.

The need for approval — for validation and love — speaks to me loud and clear, and calls to a part of me I don't usually acknowledge during daylight hours.

This is dangerous. More dangerous than he could possibly imagine.

If I'm not careful, this beautiful man could find himself in as bad a place as Kyle.

On the other hand, he's clearly accustomed to the stranger side of things. If I play my cards right...

I rub the back of my neck and sigh.

After Becky, I should know better.

"Right. So, what do you say we visit Rexi's burgers? Dinner and recon in one go."

His eyes widen, and his stomach literally growls.

I could smack myself. Sometimes I forget that not everyone eats like me.

Extending a hand, I help Carlos to his feet.

"Burgers it is. On me."

He blinks his big brown eyes at me, and in that moment, I know it's already too late.

I'm fucked.

Or, more precisely, we both are, and in more ways than one.