Rolling out after Lorelie Brown’s fabuuuuuuuuuuuulous Tarnished Angel:

Five years since Detective Xavier Landis walked away from the man who loved him.

One dead girl.

And now, an excerpt:

“You never moved.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I like it here.”

Xavier swallowed. “I’ll wait out here for you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He pointedly looked up and down the sleepy, silent street. “Nothing is going to happen to me here, and if somebody jumps out at me, I’m armed. I know how to use my gun. I’m not a defenseless nineteen-year-old.”

Jeff’s lips thinned. “I’ll be back in less than ten minutes.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Jeff slammed the door almost hard enough to shake the car, and Xavier regretted his sarcasm. It wasn’t Jeff’s fault. None of this was Jeff’s fault. Jeff was entirely blameless in the situation, and somehow, that just annoyed Xavier more. He didn’t want Jeff to be blameless. Not when he felt steeped in guilt. And now Jeff was focused on him instead of actively searching for Robin’s killer. How was that supposed to help anybody?

Jeff was actually back in eleven minutes, carrying a familiar black duffle bag. He tossed it in the back seat, slid behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled onto the street without speaking. Xavier didn’t resume his narration of events. He took the mp3 player out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the plastic case, like if he studied it long enough, he could figure out who the voice belonged to.

“Where do you live now?”

The question surprised Xavier. Somehow, he expected Jeff to know exactly where he lived. He murmured the address. He only had to say it once. Jeff had a good memory, too.

Once Jeff parked in front of his building, Xavier didn’t even try to argue with him. Jeff followed him to his second floor apartment, and hovered as Xavier fished out his keys. Jeff wasn’t touching him—not quite—but Xavier was still acutely aware of his large frame, of his steady breathing. He had always been too aware of Jeff’s body, like he had a special sixth sense, honed specifically to his ex-lover.

He unlocked the deadbolt, then gripped the knob to unlock it, too. Except, it turned in his hand. Xavier paused, frowning down at it. Jeff didn’t miss the hesitation.

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh. Nothing.”

He never forgot to secure both locks. Except…maybe he had forgotten that morning? Either way, he made a mental note to get the locks changed. It couldn’t hurt, and Jeff would probably insist on it purely on principle.

“Just wait here,” Xavier muttered before turning to the short corridor leading to his bedroom. The last thing he wanted was Jeff invading what was left of his personal space. He didn’t need the smell of Jeff’s cologne lingering in his bedroom.

He packed quickly, tossing everything haphazardly in his duffle bag. He packed like he planned to go away for a single weekend. He wasn’t going to let Jeff, or some psychopath, keep him from his own home for much longer than a few days. He saved the toiletries for last, but he was brought up short as he approached the closed bathroom door.

His pulse jumped.

He never shut the bathroom door. He left it open so the draft from the half-window above the tub would keep the bedroom cool. Advancing carefully, he imagined the culprit waiting for him on the other side, or maybe trying to wiggle out of the window.

Xavier took a deep breath. Nudged the door open.

Exposed nothing more than his not-quite-tidy bathtub and sink.

“X? Are you about done?”

He jerked at Jeff’s voice. Snorting self-consciously, he shook his head at his reckless nerves and stepped into the bathroom. “Yeah. I’ll be right out.”

When Xavier emerged, Jeff stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a photograph between his fingers. A quick glance at the now empty fridge told Xavier exactly what interested Jeff.

“Who is this?” Jeff didn’t even look up.

“Jessica.”

“And she is?”

“My girlfriend.”

[Cover courtesy of The Other Stuff.]

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