John

I spend more time in the shower than an environmentally conscious person should, but no amount of water can wash Carlos from my mind. He lingers in my memory: the scent of him, the feel of his skin against mine. Before I know it, I'm rock hard and I haven't even touched myself. Giving in, I let my imagination wander, and ejaculate so fast I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't alone.

After catching my breath, I finally shut off the shower and get dressed.

Downstairs, Becky is curled up on the couch with the dogs and a book, undoing weeks of 'not-on-the-furniture' training in one fell swoop. She looks up when I enter the room and sets her book aside.

"I think that was a record-breaker," she says, referring to my marathon shower. "You must have a lot on your mind."

She's opened a bottle of wine, so I grab a glass and join her, though I don't particularly like cabernet.

"It's this case. I'm missing something." I settle across from her on the opposite sofa. "I can feel it like an itch in my balls."

Becky snorts. "You sure that's the case?" I glance up sharply and her expression softens. "You really caught it hard, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

She sips her wine, setting the glass aside before answering. "Well, little old aromantic me can't speak from experience, but I've seen it plenty of times in close friends. You're in love."

I scoff. "With who?"

She lifts a shoulder. "I don't know. Oh, by the way, Carlos called while you were in the shower."

Instantly alert, I lean forward eagerly. "He did? What did he say?"

Becky smirks. "Case in point."

"Becks, I'm serious."

She flicks her hand at me and pours herself more wine. "I know you are, and I'm happy for you. Surprised, but really happy. That said, are you sure about moving? You could have something good here."

"I said I was thinking about moving. Not that I would."

"Oh." Her brows shoot up. "It sounded like a done deal."

I blow out a breath and rub the back of my head. I guess it could have sounded that way.

"You're right," I admit. "I got it bad. First time in my life I can't get someone out of my head. Thing is, it's complicated."

Becky nods. "I believe it. You're a complicated guy, and I'm well aware I don't know the half of it."

I look up at her sharply. She smiles.

"John, you're a conundrum — a puzzle box locked up tight and an open book at the same time. That's what I like about you. You're never boring. On the other hand, I know I'll never be the one you let in. If you've got a chance at real happiness here, you should take it."

Sighing, I take a gulp of wine and grimace. Growing up with David spoiled my taste.

"It's in his hands," I say. "I've told him how I feel, and what it means to... get involved with someone like me. If he's willing to take a chance, I'll stay. Otherwise, David's offered to make arrangements for me."

Becky shudders. She's only met my 'foster father' twice — once at our wedding, and once when he'd paid me a surprise visit, seeking intel on one of his targets. He hadn't left a good impression either time.

"I still don't know how you turned out so normal, being raised by that guy."

"Quinn hated him," I say, my gaze drifting around the spacious room, which still bears all the marks of my brother's taste, and nothing of mine. "That was the source of the biggest rift between us. He thought David was some kinda uber-rich pedophile, playing the system to pick up foster kids." I scoff. "Believe me, if David wanted a sex slave, he'd buy one, not fill out reams of tedious paperwork and sit through awkward visits from social workers."

"Quinn was almost an adult when your parents died, wasn't he? Why didn't he take you himself?"

"Are you kidding? He'd gotten into a prestigious school on a scholarship. He could barely delay his plans for our parents' funeral." I sigh and set my glass aside. "He made a choice to bury his pain under layers of ambition and commitment. He chose to put himself and his career first. He always seemed so resilient, but it changed him. And now where is he?" I cast my eyes heavenward, though I'm not sure there's anything up there but stars and empty space. "Anyway. What did Carlos say?"

"He just asked you to call him back. That's all." Becky sips her wine without meeting my eyes

A frown of unease tugs at my mouth and that same feeling tickles the back of my mind, like an infuriating itch that I can't scratch. "And what did you say?"

She winces. Tact is not her forte, especially when she's excited. "Maybe too much. We talked about the case a little. He seemed surprised to learn your suspect's alibi is female, and I... may have mentioned your move. I thought that's why you wanted me to take the dogs!"

"Shit. No, I just can't look after them on my own right now, and I know they'd prefer to go with you than to a kennel."

"Damn right." She ruffles their ears and makes kissy noises. Two tails thump rapidly in apparent agreement. "Maybe you should call him back and clear things up."

I nod and rise, pulling out my phone, I retreat to the kitchen area for some privacy. Becky didn't say as much, but she's clearly planning to spend the night, which means I'll have to scrounge something for dinner. Carlos would have no trouble; he doesn't give himself any credit for it, but he's a skilled cook. Meanwhile, I look at my cabinets and see individual ingredients without the slightest clue how to combine them into something edible.

Carlos' phone goes to voicemail, and I swear under my breath.

The feeling intensifies. Instinct, David would say. Primal and raw.

With a tingle of adrenaline in my fingertips, I text him.

Hey.
Where are you?

I wait, but get no reply. I'm relieved when I see the notice that the message was read. He's got his phone at least. He just doesn't want to talk to me. I type a longer note.

Becky doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm not going anywhere until I hear your answer. The only reason I'd leave is because I know I can't stay away from you.

I wait again, but no 'read' notice appears this time. He probably put his phone away and silenced it. I send one more text, hoping he'll see it soon.

Call me. Please.

I'm not usually a jumpy guy, but I jump when my phone rings barely two seconds after I press send.

It's not Carlos, though.

"McKenzie. Tell me you got good news."

Latoya's voice comes through loud and clear as always.

"Sure do. You know that earring back you collected? Forensics actually got a match on the DNA."

"No way. How?"

"It was already in a databank from a previous arrest. Belongs to one Regina Morelli."

"Morelli... Why is that familiar?"

"Because her brother is Rafael Morelli, the lucky landscape gardener who just inherited a sizeable estate."

"Fuck."

"Hang on. I'll send a pic."

My phone pings with the incoming message. I open it and swear.

"Fucking hell. That's Rexi."

"Who?"

"The chick from the burger truck. Also the last known person to have seen Kyle alive. You on it?"

"Just about. You coming?"

"Yeah. Text me the address. I'll be there as soon as I can."

I end the call and stride back across the living room. The dogs jump up when I grab my jacket and keys, nearly upsetting Becky's wine.

"Where are you going?" she calls, rising to follow me.

"Out. Work. Stay with the dogs."

"No way! I'll come with you."

"You're half drunk."

"No I'm—" she trips on the edge of the rug and sits back down with a thump.

"You're not coming. Rick, Morty — stay."

The pair sit obediently, heads tilted to the side.

"Good dogs."

Outside, I run to my car and open the door, when the front door opens after me and Becky peers out. "John! You forgot your—"

The dogs bolt past her, nearly knocking her over, and sprint at full speed to my car, where they dive seamlessly in through the open driver's side door and into the back seat.

Apologetically, Becky trots over and hands me my wallet. "You forgot that. Sorry."

"Shit. This is why they failed the academy." I eye the car. I don't have time to waste getting them out again. They know I'm going somewhere, and for some reason they got it in their dumb heads that they get to come along for the ride. Convincing them otherwise is a lost cause. "Fine, I'll take them with me. You stay—"

The passenger door slams shut and Becky grins at me sheepishly from the seat. "It's my fault they got loose," she says. "I'll keep them in line. Besides, you know I'm packing, too." She lifts the side of her suit jacket to reveal a dainty firearm.

"Becky, I don't have time for this."

"Then get in."

Defeated, I swear and slam the door after me for good measure.

It's then I notice she's got her purse, which she wouldn't have needed if she was just bringing me my wallet.

"Becks... did you do that on purpose?"

"What?" She blinks at me innocently. "Of course not! You know me."

The feeling flickers in my gut, and the dogs whimper with excitement as I shift into drive and step on the gas.

"Yeah," I grumble. "I do."