Chapter Nine

Griffin

"I'll drive," I said when Ben did nothing but stare into space.

"I'm fine."

I gave his shoulder a little shove, the action enough to have him doing what I'd said and swapping places with me. Once I was in the driver's seat and I'd checked Ben was with it enough to have fastened his seatbelt, I started the car.

We'd gone a few blocks before Ben spoke, his voice sounding as weary as I'd ever heard it. "Don't you want to know my address?"

"I'm not taking you home."

"No?" He gave a sharp laugh. "Are you kidnapping me?"

When I didn't credit that with a response, we lapsed back into silence for the duration of the journey, Ben too tired to argue.

He turned his head to study the small twenty-four hour cafe as I parked outside it, climbing out of the car without protest when I did. I returned the car keys to him as we made our way inside, only three of the booths occupied at this ungodly hour, and only one of them containing more than one person. The couple in that booth looked like they were so in love they might just stay there forever and stare into each other's eyes for eternity. I doubted they would have looked my way even if I stood right next to them and banged a drum. Luckily for them, I didn't have one with me.

I shoved Ben into a booth as far away from the loved-up couple as possible before making my way over to the counter. The woman behind it had dyed black hair with blond roots showing and looked about as enthused at serving me as you'd expect at this hour. Which was to say not at all. She took my order dutifully, and neither of us felt the need to engage in any conversation beyond what was necessary.

Ben seemed at a loss for something to say when I deposited the chocolate milkshake in front of him. "You still drink milkshakes, right?" It was a stupid question when I knew he did. He still had at least one a week. Sometimes chocolate. Sometimes vanilla. Occasionally, banana. Just as he had to endure my frequent whiskey binges, I had to suffer his sweet tooth.

"You know I do."

I shrugged. Instead of a milkshake, I'd gone for coffee. Not that I'd be able to taste it once Ben started on the milkshake. With that in mind, I lifted the mug and took a sip, savoring the sharp tang of it. They might not serve the best coffee here, but it was the best available at this hour without making it myself. I studied Ben as he stared out at the deserted street, the booth I'd chosen next to the window. Apart from looking exhausted, he looked the same as he had years ago. The same nose with a slight bump to it where he'd once broken it. The same sandy blond hair cut short for ease of styling rather than fashion. And the gray eyes I'd once enjoyed looking into as much as the loved up couple I was doing my best to ignore.

"Why bring me here?" Ben asked without turning his head, the street apparently holding some fascination for him.

"Would you have slept if I'd taken you home?" He gave a slight shake of his head. "Well, then."

He dragged his gaze away from the street and skewered me with it. "Would you?"

I considered the question. Bringing someone back from the dead was nothing new, but even I wasn't hard-hearted enough to pretend that it being a murder victim didn't bother me. "No," I answered honestly.

Ben nodded as he reached for his milkshake, the taste of coffee turning to mocha in my mouth as he drank a quarter of it in a series of long swallows. After wiping his mouth, he sat back in his chair and let out a sigh. "In my stupidity, I thought it would be easy. A one and done thing."

"There's nothing wrong with being optimistic." I took another sip of my coffee. When it no longer hit the spot, I reached into my bag and pulled out the hip flask I'd gotten in the habit of carrying around with me. Ignoring Ben's furrowed brow, I unscrewed the top and poured some whiskey into my coffee.

"Jesus! Can't you go five minutes without drinking?"

"Apparently not." I brought my mug to my lips, the exaggerated expression of pleasure I made while drinking, doing exactly what I intended it to and inflaming Ben more. At least while he was angry with me, he wasn't beating himself up for not being able to create miracles. "It was never going to be that easy," I said. "Necromancy isn't that straightforward."

"Yet, you still said yes to it. "

I leaned forward. "Tell me what you know now that you didn't know an hour ago."

"I know that Patrick's an obstructive dick. I didn't know that before." I waited him out, knowing from experience he'd crack before I did. Sure enough, he sat up straighter. "We have somewhere to start looking … a club within walking distance of The Jigsaw Bar."

"What else?"

"A physical description. Brown hair and blue eyes." Ben winced. "Which is so vague it probably fits about thirty percent of the population of London."

"I doubt it's that high."

Ben shrugged. "It even fits Lou."

"And Lou is?"

"My partner. The one asked to take a back seat to make room for you."

"Are you sure that's the only reason they asked him to take a back seat?"

Ben laughed. "Are you suggesting he's been going around picking up men and chopping their fingers off in his spare time?"

I held his gaze. "I'm suggesting that it's not wise to discount anyone."

"Not even a fellow detective I've known for years?" When I didn't answer, Ben laughed again. "Right. I'd forgotten you were a great believer in guilty until proven innocent."

"What else do you know?" I asked, refusing to rise to the bait. I'd already concluded that the only way to stay calm and collected around Ben was to pretend our shared history didn't exist. He was just a detective I had to work with. Nothing more .

Ben pulled a napkin closer and produced a pen from his pocket. On it, he scrawled four letters. "Sage," he said, "Rupert's last word. I assumed it was a name, but it could be something else."

"Perhaps he enjoyed cooking and was trying to give you a recipe."

When Ben shot me a sharp look, I held my hands up in mock defense. "Just a little gallows humor. You did it yourself earlier with the quip about where the murderer kept his fingers, so don't go all judgmental on me. Anyway, even if it was a name, what are the chances he gave a real one? I mean, if I was going to murder someone, I'd hope I'd be clever enough to use a pseudonym."

Ben let out a sigh. "You have a point." He pulled his milkshake back in front of him and I steeled myself for my tastebuds to turn to sugar. "Do you ever wish we'd never met?" he said once he'd finished drinking.

Something speared me in the chest. Something that dug and squeezed and wriggled around to cause the maximum amount of pain. "What kind of question is that?"

"One I'd like an answer to."

I got up from the table. "I'll get a cab home."

"I can drive you."

"No need." I left before Ben could say anything else. Even though I pondered it most of the way home, I still didn't come up with a definitive answer to what should have been a simple question. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got at him for asking it.

I wasn't sure why I'd ended up here, whether it was the need to see a friendly face, the booze, or a combination of the two, but here I was, propping up the bar while Flynn did his usual flirtatious act behind it.

The first opportunity he got, he made his way over to me, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hello stranger!" I rolled my eyes at the cliched greeting and he laughed. "Like that, is it?"

"Like what?"

"I've called and texted you several times. And all my messages have gone unanswered."

"I've been busy."

Interest sparked in his eyes. "Oh, yeah. Doing what?"

"Doing a job I shouldn't be doing and had no wish to, with a person I had no intention of seeing again." It was a toss up who was more surprised by my honesty, me or him.

"I see." He stared at me for a moment. "That sounds like a proper sit down conversation rather than one that will get interrupted by my next paying customer." He lifted his gaze and groaned, a woman with long red hair arriving at the other side of the bar as if on cue. "Speaking of which…" He aimed a finger at my face while he backed away. "Don't go anywhere. Me and you are going to talk. I know the face of a man who has things to get off his chest, and that's you all over tonight. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that crap."

Flynn kept to his word, negotiating an early finish time and then dragging me to a cafe down the road. A different one than the one I'd gone to with Ben, thankfully. And he ordered mint tea rather than a milkshake .

"So… spill," he said, leaning back in his chair and regarding me quizzically. "I thought your job was raising the dead of London."

"Keep your voice down," I urged him, the cafe fairly busy and quiet enough that his voice would travel. "And it is usually."

"Usually?"

I let out a sigh. "CID have commandeered my services."

Flynn's eyebrows shot up. "CID! What do they want with you?" Rather than answering, I waited until he put two and two together and came up with the right number. "You're bringing bodies back for them. Why would they…?" He braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward, a slight furrow on his brow. "Has this got something to do with that lunatic going around killing gay men?" When I nodded, he sat back with a stunned expression on his face. "Wow! That's crazy. Have you done it yet? They found one the night before last, right? It was all over the news."

"Rupert," I said, everything coming flooding back. I'd assumed, with being up most of the night, that I could take the following day off. I'd done it anyway, no one calling to say any different. I'd wondered whether Ben had the same luxury or whether he'd had to drag himself to work and survive on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline. For once, our shared connection had lain dormant and not given me the answer to that question. I'd spent a good portion of the day sleeping, my dreams plagued by symbols drawn in blood and the trusting look in Rupert's eyes when he'd thought we could make everything better, when in reality we'd been pumping him for information. Or at least Ben had. By being there and saying nothing, though, I'd been complicit in the falsehood.

"Did you…?" Flynn seemed unwilling to finish his sentence .

"Yes."

"So he told you who it was, and the killer is in custody, or will be soon?"

I laughed. "It's not that simple, unfortunately."

"So he's still at large?"

"Afraid so."

Flynn grimaced as he sipped his tea. "Did he tell you anything useful?"

"He…" I'd been going to tell Flynn about the name that might not be a name, and the physical description, but there was probably an expectation of confidentiality in the contract I'd signed without bothering to read it properly. Not that I didn't trust Flynn, but he spoke to hundreds of people every day as part of his job. It would be far too easy for him to pass on something I'd said if the subject of Satanic Romeo came up.

"He…?" Flynn queried with the tilt of one eyebrow.

I shook my head. "Nothing. He didn't tell us anything. It was a waste of time."

"That's a shame. I've been researching," Flynn said with a slightly embarrassed smile. "You know, ever since I found out you were a necromancer. Is it true that people don't remember their death when they're brought back?"

"Most of the time, yeah."

He grimaced. "Well, that sucks when you're trying to find a murderer. Were they hoping for a miracle?"

"Something like that."

"What's the rest of it?" he asked, a lock of hair falling over his brow.

"The rest of it?"

"The person you didn't want to work with."

"My partner. DCI Ben Weaver. "

"Is he a dick?"

"No." Even though I had no intention of ordering anything, I studied the menu on the table. They did a lot of breakfast specials, apparently.

"Then why don't you want to work with him?"

"Because he's my ex."

Flynn's lips formed into an o of surprise. "Well, that's messy."

"Yeah, it is."

"How long since you split?"

"Three years."

"Was it serious?"

Fated Mate serious. The man I was destined to be with. Do you get more serious than that? "Fairly."

"Why did you split?"

"It was a long time ago."

Flynn finished the last of his tea and placed his mug down on the table. "Meaning you don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah."

He flashed a smile. "Then we don't have to." He leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a seductive purr. "How about I take you home and drive every single thought of him from your head instead?"

"That's a big promise to make."

He stood and held out his hand. "You don't think I'm good for it?"

"I don't know."

A furrow appeared between his brows when I didn't take his hand. "What's stopping you? Your ex?"

Ben would know if I did this. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he'd suffer the second-hand effects of any sexual arousal I experienced. I spent a few seconds warring with how awkward that would make things before taking Flynn's hand. Fuck Ben and his fucking do you wish we'd never met question. He deserved it just for that. If he had his way, he'd have me giving up whiskey and sex and living like a monk while we worked together.