Chapter Seventeen

Ben

Griffin looked hot in his club gear of tight jeans, black tank top, and leather jacket, and I kept having to remind myself that this was work, not a night out where we could both let loose and make out like teenagers on the dancefloor. My attire was similar, both of us ready to lose the jackets and show off a considerable amount of bare skin if we needed to blend in more.

PC Olivia Furness tugged self consciously at her short skirt in order to drag it down to mid-thigh, her partner PC Harry Binns smirking at the gesture. "Jesus!" she said. "I haven't dressed like this since I was in my early twenties. If my mother could see me now."

Harry laughed. "Unless your mother is out hitting the gay clubs tonight, I think you're safe."

"I wouldn't put it past her," she muttered, even Griffin barking out a laugh.

Harry's gaze traveled along the street to where Eclipse stood, the queue outside the nightclub stretching at least thirty meters. " So, what's the plan?" he asked, his question directed at me as senior officer.

"Observe. Look out for anyone acting suspicious. Ask questions, but don't make them too obvious. We don't want to cause unnecessary alarm." It sounded weak. Hell, it was weak, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and I'd had to fight tooth and nail even to get Baros to sign off on any operation.

Olivia tugged her skirt down again, offering the fabric a glare which said it should know better than to mess with her. "Why this club?"

Because we have to start somewhere, and it's as good a place as any. I didn't say that, and thankfully, despite being aware of the truth, Griffin stayed silent. "On the night he died, Rupert Shaw spent most of the evening in The Jigsaw Bar." I pointed in the opposite direction to Eclipse. "Which, in case you don't know, is a ten-minute walk that way. He…" I quickly changed what I'd been going to say, assuming it was unlikely Olivia and Harry knew about Rupert's post death interview. "We know he left his friends to walk to a club. As this is the closest nightclub to The Jigsaw Bar, it's the most likely one for Satanic Romeo to have picked him up from."

Olivia squinted at the club as if viewing it in a new light. Unfortunately, that scrutiny didn't result in Satanic Romeo bursting out of the doors with his hands held high and announcing that he couldn't take the guilt for one second longer and it was a fair cop. "You realize I'm going to stick out like a sore thumb here?"

I ran my gaze over the queue, not one female among them.

"You're not the only one," Harry said with a snort .

Yeah, it wasn't ideal that the two uniformed officers assigned to me—Baros had made it clear I was lucky to get any—were female in Olivia's case and straight in Harry's. But you worked with what you had. "If you're not up to the job…"

It had the desired effect, both of them drawing themselves up to their full heights. They were damned lucky to be called on by CID and given the opportunity to play a part in catching the man on everyone's lips, and they knew it. If, by some miracle, we had a breakthrough, it could really grease the wheels to a promotion for them.

"It'll be fine," Olivia said. "If anyone asks, I come here to dance without having to put up with being groped." She tugged her skirt down again.

Harry nodded his assent. "And I guess I'm just so far in the closet I'm a frequent visitor to Narnia."

"Stay together," I cautioned them. "That way, you can share intel and watch each other's backs."

They both nodded.

"Do we have to queue?" Griffin asked as we started walking toward the club, the tone of his voice leaving no doubt that while there were many things he was prepared to put up with during this case, that wasn't one of them.

We reached the back of the queue, my answer coming from the fact that I kept walking, the mumblings of discontent starting up immediately, and one or two disgruntled customers going a step further to shout something rude that we all ignored.

The bouncer at the front of the queue watched us approach with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. He looked like he was spoiling for a fight. And if there was one, I doubted we'd win, even with there being four of us. Not unless Olivia's sweet-looking exterior was nothing but a front for her ability to rip a man's testicles off with her teeth. Once we reached the bouncer, I announced "Jeremy Patterson," hoping to God that whoever had organized this had done their job and done it well. If they had, he'd recognize the name and wave us in without asking questions. If they hadn't, it would mean a demand to see the owner of the club and creating a scene that really wasn't conducive to successful undercover work.

His gaze traveled over for me for a few seconds, and I sensed the desire for him to make some sort of quip about me not looking like a cop. Thankfully, he held it in. Once he'd finished scrutinizing me, he did the same to Griffin, and then Harry, missing Olivia out altogether in a display of… Well, take your pick. Misogyny? Heterophobia? Or a combination of the two?

Finally, he jerked his head toward the entrance, the action earning a curse of "for fuck's sake" from one of two men at the front of the queue, both of them showing enough bare flesh that nobody would argue too vociferously if I arrested them for public indecency.

Griffin smirked as I caught him looking. "What? You think they're dressed like that because they want people to ignore them."

"Doesn't mean you have to look." I pushed through the double doors into the main body of the club, the music hitting like a tidal wave, the throbbing bass something you could feel as well as hear. While Harry and Olivia peeled away like we'd already agreed to stake out the upper floor of the club, Griffin and I took the ground floor. We all had phones we'd agreed to check constantly, the action one that wouldn't look out of place in a club. We'd considered earpieces, but they'd be far more conspicuous, and given how loud the club was, I wasn't sure we'd have been able to hear each other, anyway, proving it to be the right decision. As well as loud, Eclipse was busy, the possibility of finding something useful seeming more and more like a pipe dream. Satanic Romeo could be right under my nose and I'd never know it.

"Drink," Griffin announced, tugging me along with him as he fought his way to the bar. I spent the time while he waited to be served, observing the crowd. As my investigation had nothing to do with the fashion sense and hairstyles of the young gay men of London, I came up blank. To my surprise, Griffin ordered two orange juices, passing one across with a smirk. "What?"

"You know what?"

"You thought I was going to use this as an excuse to get pissed?"

"If the cap fits." I moved closer, surreptitiously patting him down and searching for the telltale bulge of the hip flask in one of his pockets, expecting that its contents would soon find their way into his drink. To the untrained eye, it would simply have looked like I was copping a feel.

Griffin withstood it, maybe even leaned into it. "Now, who's using something as an excuse?"

I came up empty, the only bulges Griffin's phone and wallet. Well, and the one between his legs that had circumstances been different, I would have happily checked out. "You didn't bring it."

"I haven't touched a drop all week."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Because talking about it had eased some of the guilt around his sister's death. Because he was no longer fighting the urge to be with me. He'd been wallowing in so much denial and self-recrimination for the past three years that alcohol had been his only escape. "I'm glad," I said, my voice husky with a sudden rush of emotion.

Work, I reminded myself as the urge to kiss him became almost overwhelming. I wasn't here to lose myself in Griffin. I was here to catch a killer. Once Satanic Romeo was behind bars, we'd have all the time together we needed. I'd get Baros to give me some time off and Griffin and I could spend a week in bed getting to know each other again properly. We could talk about the future and what it held for us. Would marriage be back on the cards? Did I want it to be? There were a lot of unanswered questions, but they'd all have to wait.

For the next hour, we circulated, both Griffin and I forced to fend off unwanted advances and multiple offers of threesomes, Griffin seeming to find it far more amusing than I did. I'd lost him for three years. Therefore, I had zero intentions of sharing him.

Frustration set in around the forty-five minute mark, the hopelessness of the task at hand really hitting home. Much as I hated to admit it, the DCS had been right to hold off on okaying this operation, recognizing a futility I hadn't been prepared to face. Because when it came down to it, what were we looking for? Guys being picked up? We were surrounded by them, at least half of the dance floor taken up by men either putting on a show to attract attention, or men who'd already caught their prey and were rubbing up against them as a prelude to either taking them to the bathroom, or home, depending on how much they liked them and/or how fussy they were about the location of their sexual acts. It wasn't like we could stand at the exit and question them about their intentions. Harry and Olivia had sent several reports via text and didn't seem to be having any more luck than we were, their last few texts almost a carbon copy of each other.

Griffin let out a sigh next to me. "This is hopeless!"

Despite his statement only reflecting my own thoughts, it caused a swell of anger. I didn't need someone pointing out what a waste of time it was. I needed someone who would tell me it was going to be okay. Like he'd done the other day. He might have been lying through his teeth, but it had done its job, and Griffin knew me well enough to know that.

I turned, intending to tell him exactly that, but before I could, a man appeared out of the crowd and launched himself at Griffin, dragging him into an enthusiastic hug and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "Look at you out having fun," he announced with a glint in his eye, which, if the hug and kiss hadn't already been a giveaway, would have told me he knew Griffin well.

To give Griffin his due, he detached himself from the embrace quickly, turning his ‘friend' in my direction and bellowing over the music. "This is Ben. You know, the one I told you about. Ben, this is Flynn."

Flynn. Was I supposed to recognize the name? In a rush of intuition, which probably meant I could keep my detective badge, I worked it out. This was the guy Griffin had been seeing. Or not seeing, if he'd been telling the truth about them not really being a thing. I studied him as he held his hand out, not liking what I saw. Too young. Younger than Griffin or me by a good few years. Trim body shown off to its best advantage by skintight jeans and a white sleeveless top that deliberately stopped short of his waistband to show off a few inches of tanned, toned abdomen. Brown hair just long enough to have a slight wave to it. Green eyes full of genuine warmth that made it hard not to like him.

After a pause, I took his hand, Flynn giving it a vigorous shake. He leaned forward so I could hear him, my nostrils filling with the slight tang of sweat and a spicy cologne. "It's great to meet you, Ben. I'm so glad you and Griffin worked out your differences and got back together. He's been so lost."

Lost. That word annoyed me. Not because it wasn't true. It was. But because I didn't like the thought of anyone knowing Griffin as well as I did. I tamped down on the surge of jealousy, Griffin's expression telling me I hadn't done it quickly enough for him not to have felt it.

"Thanks." The word seemed insufficient, but what else was I supposed to say?

Still smiling, Flynn finally let go of my hand and backed off, his gaze darting between the two of us. "So… what's going on with you two? Are you guys out celebrating your reunion?"

My phone beeped, and I pulled it out of my pocket to read the message.

Harry: Nothing to report up here.

There was a message from Olivia as well from a couple of minutes earlier.

Olivia: No change. I'd say I was bored, but watching Harry fend off advances is pretty entertaining. I reckon he's had at least five numbers shoved into various pockets. If you want to see him blush, ask him about it at the end of the night.

"We're working."

Griffin's response to Flynn's question had me jerking my head up. Him telling the truth surprised me. I would have expected him to know better when we were undercover. Mind, as Griffin's days of working for CID still hadn't passed double figures, I was probably being unfair.

Flynn's eyes went wide, a look of trepidation appearing on his face. "Really?" He turned in a slow circle. "You think this might be where Satanic Romeo finds his victims? Fuck!"

"Shhh…" I cautioned him. "Keep your voice down. We don't want to cause a panic."

Flynn nodded, his expression turning sheepish. "Sorry. It's just… I don't know. It's bad enough that it's going on in your city without it being in a club you frequent."

"You come here a lot?"

He shrugged. "Depends what you call a lot?"

"At least once or twice a month."

"Then, yeah, a fair amount."

"Ever seen anything suspicious?"

I ignored Griffin narrowing his eyes at me. Yeah, I was interviewing Flynn, but he didn't get a pass just because he and Griffin had once been intimate. A witness was a witness.

Flynn pondered the question for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No, sorry. I wish I could help, but…" He trailed off, looking sorry that he didn't have a tidbit of information that would blow the case wide open.

I fished in my pocket and pulled out a card with my phone number on it. "If you see anything, or remember anything you didn't think was strange at the time but have second thoughts about, then call me."

Flynn turned the card over in his hands a few times before giving an enthusiastic nod. "I will, and"— he flicked a glance Griffin's way—"I don't know if Griff told you, but I'm a bartender. People talk, you know, and I've always got one ear to the ground, so maybe I'll hear something useful there."

Griff! I gritted my teeth at the casual use of the shortened name. Griffin had led me to believe they hadn't known each other long. Had that been a lie? Or was Flynn just one of those people who got really friendly really quickly? From the short time I'd spent with him, I assumed it was the latter, Flynn already treating me like we were old friends.

I forced a smile. "Thanks. That would be great. Even if you think it's something small, don't hesitate to contact me. Sometimes those small things fit together to give us an overall picture we wouldn't otherwise have."

"I will." Flynn cast a quick look around the club, his expression troubled. "Not sure I'll be coming here again, mind. Reckon, I'll just become a hermit until you catch this guy." He leaned conspiratorially close, my nostrils filling once more with the smell of his cologne. "Is there anything else I can do, detective, to keep myself safe?" There was something familiar about the smell this time, like I knew someone else who wore it. Possibly Lou. My partner had a bit of a reputation for always smelling fresh. Dressing up for the cadavers was the jibe he always got.

After a bit of small talk, most of which I wouldn't have recalled even under cross-examination, Flynn disappeared back into the crowd. I watched him go, that same thrum of jealousy itching beneath my skin.

"I can feel it, you know," Griffin said, his lips close to my ear.

"Feel what?" I pulled my phone out and checked the screen as an excuse not to look at him. No new messages.

"You being jealous. You don't need to be. "

I eked out putting my phone back in my pocket for as long as I could. Eventually, though, I had no choice but to look at him. "I just didn't expect him to be so…"

"So…?"

Griffin's lips were touching my ear now, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver of arousal through me. "Young. Good looking… Nice."

"Is he? I didn't notice when he was standing next to you. I only had eyes for you."

I laughed. As a good thing to say, it was definitely up there. And it was enough to break the tension. "Good. Keep it like that."

"Yes, detective." There was a hum of promise in Griffin's tone that had me checking my watch and seeing how far away from two a.m.—the club's closing time—we were. It wasn't even midnight; we still had two hours to go.

We resumed circulating for a while until we came to a temporary stop. "Maybe, after this," Griffin said, his tone seductive, "you could take me home and punish me."

I turned my head so that our lips almost met. "What am I punishing you for?"

"Leaving you. Not seeing sense. Being stubborn. Being blind. Being stupid. Touching someone else."

"That's quite a long list. It's going to take a lot of punishment."

"I'm sure you'll—"

Griffin never got to finish his sentence, a shout loud enough to be heard over the music, taking center stage instead. "HE'S GOT A KNIFE."

And then all hell broke loose.