Chapter Five

Colson knew he should've left earlier.

It had been a productive day. He was deep into the character building of not only his killer but the detective on the hunt.

A character's backstory had never come so easily to him as this detective's. Maybe because he'd had the perfect man to model him after. Detective Harrison Rosa was in his late thirties, tall, dark-haired, with ice-gray eyes and a bad attitude that was always getting him in trouble with higher-ups…but they kept him because he got his killers.

Colson's realization that he'd based his new character on the real-life Detective Harper Rose gave him a moment of hesitation, and he'd considered revising but had decided against it. Rose himself had stated he'd never read Colson's books. He'd never see the man again anyway, which was probably for the best, as each time they'd faced off, Colson was left pissed off—and even more aggravatingly, turned-on. He'd never met anyone who'd gotten under his skin so fast.

Earlier, Colson had brought Millie some things from the store, and when she'd asked him to stay, he hadn't been able to refuse. He'd even brought over his notebook and read her some of the chapters he'd written. Now, seeing Detective Harper Rose perched so casually on the barstool, making nice with Millie, he wished he'd never come.

"Colson was sweet enough to pick up my groceries from the supermarket," Millie gushed to Rose, who wore the sightly amused but patronizing expression that annoyed the shit out of Colson. Millie, of course, remained unaware and chattered on. "He's been a tremendous help all week, in fact, stopping by to check on me, taking me to the doctor for my checkup." She gazed at him fondly, and he smiled at her.

"It's no problem. I'm home, and I'm happy to help."

"You're lucky, Ms. Johnson, to have such an accommodating neighbor. That's unusual these days."

Colson shot Rose a glance to see if he was being a smartass, but there was no smirk on that handsome face. They each ate their pie, and after taking several bites, Rose glanced up at him.

"You really helped make this?"

"Yes. But it's Millie's recipe."

"Still," Rose mused. "I've tried to make cookies from a recipe and…well, it wasn't pretty."

Colson's lips twitched at the thought of Detective Harper Rose making cookies.

"I'll give you my recipe, Detective. Foolproof chocolate-butterscotch cookies." Millie went to the cabinet and pulled out a box of recipe cards.

"Thank you. I'd love it."

Colson watched as Rose finished his pie. He wasn't joking. He cleaned every crumb off the plate and licked his lips. "Aren't you eating yours?"

Colson blinked and roused himself from obsessing over Rose's tongue. "Uh, yeah." He shoveled in the last few pieces.

"Don't eat so fast, Boy Scout. You might choke…again." Rose's teasing grin brought furious heat to Colson's cheeks. Evidently, Rose was recalling the time in the coffee shop when he'd coughed up a lung.

"I don't know what you mean."

Rose chuckled. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to lie to the police?"

Millie returned with the card, and Rose took a snapshot of it on his phone. "Thank you. This was delicious, whoever made it. I'm glad you have help, Ms. Johnson, but I will warn you that there are still push-in robberies happening. And the fact that you opened the door without asking for identification or looking through the peephole is troubling."

"Millie, no." Exasperated, Colson swung around to face her. "I've told you a hundred times not to open the door without checking first. You need a video camera like the one I have."

She sighed. "Please don't be mad. I knew you were coming. But I promise to get one soon."

Colson met Rose's eyes over the table and read his expression: if you can bring over groceries, bring her a damn alarm system.

God, he hated that the man was right.

"I'm going to order it right now and it'll be delivered tomorrow." He took out his phone and made the purchase.

"Good." Watching him, Rose nodded with approval. "I'll stop by and check to make sure. We're in the neighborhood because of all the break-ins." He picked up his plate. "Would you like me to put this in the dishwasher?"

"Thank you. That's very nice of you."

To Colson's shock, Rose stopped by his side and reached out to take his plate, close enough to brush their arms together and for him to fixate on the swirl of dark hair from under the cuff of his white button-down.

"The NYPD aims to please," Rose murmured in a husky voice that went straight to Colson's dick, and he shivered at the thought of pleasing a man like Rose.

Whoa. Who said he was gay?

Through lowered lashes, he watched Rose put the plates in the dishwasher and admired the perfect curve of his ass. Time to roll his tongue up in his mouth and leave.

"Millie, I have to get going and finish rereading what I wrote, but I'll be back tomorrow with the video camera."

She made a face. "Such a terrible world we have to live in."

"I'd better go home as well."

"Does your wife work, Detective?" Millie asked as she walked them to the door.

"I'm not married, Ms. Johnson. My partner and I will be around to check on you and the rest of the neighborhood. Again, please do not answer the door without asking who it is first or looking through the peephole."

As much as Rose's arrogance and teasing annoyed him, Colson believed he was concerned about Millie and the other people in the neighborhood.

"Detective Rose and I are in agreement on this. And I'll be here tomorrow before noon with your new door cam."

She opened the door. "Good night, both of you. Thank you for caring about me. I just hate all the fuss."

"Lock the door," he and Rose said in unison and gazed at each other in surprise.

They waited to hear the lock turn, and side by side, they descended the stairs. Once they reached the sidewalk, instead of saying good night, Rose matched his steps. Colson stopped.

"You don't have to walk me home. I'm a big boy." Rose lifted a brow, and Colson's hands fisted. "Good night, Detective Rose." Furious with himself for allowing Rose to rattle him, he strode across the street, resisting the urge to see if Rose was watching him or walking away.

He hurried up his steps and took out his key, but he stopped at the sight of his door ajar. Adrenaline surged through him, and he stood waiting, then glanced across the street where Rose had turned and begun to walk away.

"Detective," he called out, alarm raising his voice several octaves higher and louder than usual. "Detective Rose," he shouted.

Rose stopped and ran to him. "What is it?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, peered at the door. "You obviously didn't leave it open like this."

Shaken, he wrapped his arms around his waist. "N-no. I always lock up when I leave the house."

"Stay back," Rose warned and pulled out his gun. Colson's eyes widened, but he did as requested. Rose took out his phone and called for backup, then pushed the door with his foot. It swung open on silent hinges. He crept inside, and Colson strained to see but was blocked. It seemed like hours, but within three to four minutes Rose walked out, his face taut and grim.

"It's all clear." Rose stood in front of him, disarmingly close. "Can I assume you don't normally leave your apartment in a mess?"

He shook his head, still in shock that this had happened to him. "No. My ex used to complain I was a neat freak." A shudder ran through him.

"Come on. Let's go sit and wait for CSU."

He stared mutely at Rose, whose pale eyes glittered with a fiery anger.

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe."

Those words, coming from a man who only minutes earlier he couldn't wait to escape, were strangely comforting, and he allowed Rose to steer him into his house. He gasped at the destruction.

"Bastards," he hissed. Every drawer was open and rifled through, and papers were scattered on the floor. Books had been pulled off the shelves and the couch cushions tossed.

Unlike Millie's grand brownstone, his was a smaller brick town house he'd renovated so the first floor would be one wide-open room. He liked the loftlike feeling of the space, but he'd kept the old-world charm, such as fireplaces, crown molding, and the original wooden floors. His pride was the early twentieth century stained-glass windows in the living room.

"First, do you see anything missing?" Rose asked as he stalked through the room, his intense gaze scanning the space.

"My computer." He ran to his desk and frantically pushed aside the mess of books and papers, searching for his MacBook. "Fuck. They stole my computer. It has everything on it. All my writing." His heart pounded, and he smacked his hand on the desk. "Those bastards ."

"Calm down, Colson." Rose's calmness irritated the fuck out of him. "Doesn't it have tracking on it? Pull up the signal, and we should be able to find it."

"Yeah, of course, of course." He pulled out his phone, and while he was getting to the app, a bunch of uniforms and people with NYPD jackets emblazoned with CSU trooped through his front door.

"You do that while I speak to the officers."

Again, Rose squeezed his shoulder, then walked away. Colson ignored the instant regret of losing the warmth of Rose's hand and concentrated on getting the tracking signal on the computer and looking for other missing items.

"Detective Rose?" he called out, and footsteps approached.

"What do you have?"

Colson pointed at the screen. "Here. It says it's in the vicinity of the park."

Cadman Plaza Park was less than five blocks away.

"You sit tight while we handle this." He glanced around the room filled with police personnel. "You're not going to be able to get any sleep here tonight." For one crazy second, he thought Rose was going to ask him to come stay with him. "Do you have a friend you can call to stay with?"

"I-I can call Hogan. He doesn't live far."

"Do that. Give me your number, and I'll let you know what happens. Meanwhile, try and take an inventory of anything else you find missing."

"Shit. My wallet. I left it here, in the desk drawer. I figured I wouldn't need it just walking across the street to Millie's." Of course, when he searched the drawer, it was gone. "What a nightmare. All my credit cards, driver's license…"

"Do you need me to get you a car? I can give you some cash…"

"No, it's fine. Hogan and his wife live in Cobble Hill. It's only—"

"I know Cobble Hill." Rose's smile came and went like the wind. "I'll let you know what we find." And he walked away, leaving him standing there like a fool.

Okay. Forget about Detective Rose. He was doing his job, and Colson had to get his head out of his ass, thinking Rose was giving him signals. He wove his way past the CSU people dusting for fingerprints and searching for whatever they were hoping to find, and ran upstairs. Like the first floor, the rooms were ransacked, but there hadn't been anything to take.

Entering his bedroom, he made a beeline for the nightstand and the only thing of value to him—the picture of his grandparents and him, framed in heavy sterling silver. Growing up as a closeted teen, in an uptight inner circle where you followed centuries-old traditions without stepping out of line, Grandpa Alex and Grandma Betty were the only ones he'd felt safe with, and he'd confided in them about his sexuality—coming out in the middle of the assisted-living facility where they resided. He hadn't been able to hold it inside him any longer. They'd hugged him and told him everything would be okay. That they loved him no matter what. The opposite of his parents' reactions when he'd come out to them. The contempt and disgust on their faces would be forever etched in his memory.

"We are so very disappointed in you, Colson. This is something we can't accept." Those were the last words his father had said to him, standing in the living room, a frown on his stern, arrogant face. The face of a man who'd never been denied anything in his life. A man who'd never known hardship and had contempt for those who did. "It would be better if you left now."

"Mom?" He couldn't believe she'd allow this to happen. She loved him.

But she shook her head. "It's not normal. What are we supposed to tell everyone? It's such an embarrassment to us."

A knife through his heart couldn't have given him greater pain than her icy contempt. Shoulders back and head up, he'd marched to his room, packed a bag with some clothes and the only family memento that held any meaning—the picture with his grandparents—and left without another word. Close to fifteen years had passed since he'd last seen them, and he had no regrets in leaving. The greatest loss in his life was the death of his grandparents.

But Grandma and Grandpa had taken care of him, leaving him all their assets—cash, stocks, and bonds, plus their house in Connecticut. Their generosity had enabled him to buy the house he lived in now and become a writer, something he'd always dreamed of. He'd taken courses and studied the craft, written short stories for crime fiction and mystery magazines. He hadn't needed the money, only the validation that he had the ability and could get published. Once he'd felt confident enough in his storytelling, he'd found his agent.

Now, instead of their sweet, smiling faces, all that was left was empty space where the frame had sat for years. Tears sprang to his eyes and he sank to the bed, crying like a baby.

***

"It will only be a day or two. Thanks for putting me up."

The following morning, he sat on Hogan and Bea's sectional couch in their living room, a cup of coffee on the table.

Hogan approached with his own cup and sat next to him. "What the hell is going on? First I'm talking to a detective about whether or not you're a murderer, and now your house gets robbed? Are you living inside one of your books or what?"

He barked out a weak excuse of a laugh. "Hell if I know."

"This is an anomaly," Hogan insisted. "They'll catch the bastards who did this, and it'll go back to normal."

He sighed. "What's even normal anymore? They took the picture of my grandparents, Hogan. The only thing that mattered to me."

"I know." Hogan put an arm around his shoulders. "It's Saturday. Bea has a spa day with her sisters. Hang out with me and the kids. If anything will take your mind off your problems, it'll be mindless hours on the swings."

He needed to go home and take care of the aftermath of the break-in, but that thought sent a rush of bile to his throat. Not yet. He checked his phone to see if he'd received any messages from Detective Rose, but it was frustratingly silent.

"Yeah, sure. Why not? I just have to do something first. I'll meet you there." He couldn't forget the door cam he'd promised Millie. Good thing he'd placed the order when he did, as he'd had to cancel his credit cards.

The package sat on his stoop and installation had proved easy. With a stern warning to Millie that she actually use it, he left for the park. Now he stood next to Hogan, who was pushing Jamie on one swing, while he had Mikey on the other. They'd brought peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, along with grapes and goldfish crackers. A beautiful sunny afternoon found the park crowded with joggers, families, and couples walking hand in hand.

"Okay, kids. Time to give Uncle Colson a break. Let's have some ice cream." Hogan stopped the swing.

"Is the break for Uncle Colson or Daddy?" Colson laughed. "Come on, Mikey. What's your favorite flavor?"

"Strawberry," the little boy yelled and ran ahead of them to the truck, where a crowd waited.

Not to be outdone, Jamie ran after him, shouting, "I want chocolate."

"Now there's a business," Hogan remarked as they waited on line.

"You'd eat yourself out of the profits in a day."

Laughter sounded behind him. "I'd be the same."

He turned around to see a man in his fifties with a younger man in a wheelchair. Colson could tell he was a quadriplegic, and his heart went out to both of them. The young man couldn't have been more than twenty-five or so. He wore a Superman shirt and a Mets cap. Colson smiled at him and received the same in return.

"This is David. He loves ice cream. Vanilla is his favorite flavor."

"Mine too, David. My name is Colson, and this is my friend Hogan. Mikey loves strawberry, and Jamie likes chocolate."

The man's eyes lit up. "Colson? As in the writer, Colson Delacourt?"

"Yes. That's me."

"I love your books. I even have them in paperback." The man chuckled. "Although I gotta say, I might sleep with the light on afterward."

"That's great to hear, thank you." At least someone hadn't forgotten him. "Not about the lights on, but I guess that means I'm doing my job."

"You sure are. Super creepy but addicting. My name's Luis. I take care of David."

"Oh, you're not his father? You seem very close."

Hogan busied himself ordering the ice cream. "Luis, what would you like? Our treat."

"You don't have to."

Hogan dipped his head. "Yeah, I know. But I want to."

"Just a cup of vanilla for David." Luis brushed a hank of dark hair off David's brow. "Yeah. We're very close. I've been with him for fifteen years. David was hurt in a school bus accident when he was five."

Mikey and Jamie stood next to him, licking their cones. "Why can't he walk?" Jamie asked.

Colson winced, but Luis's face was kind. "It's okay. I'd rather they ask questions than whisper and point." He crouched to their level. "David used to be able to do everything you can, but one day he was hurt very badly. He can't use his arms much or his legs anymore or really speak, but he tries to understand some of what you say. He loves superheroes and coming to the park or going to the zoo."

"I love superheroes too," Colson said to David, and he could see the intelligence in his light blue eyes. "When I was little, I wished I could fly like Superman."

David moved his head and grunted, his mouth opening and closing.

"He's David's favorite too," Luis explained.

"Mommy takes us to see the seals at the park." Mikey licked around his cone. "They're my favorite."

David made some more noises, and the kids laughed. "That sounds like the seals." David moved his head.

Luis smoothed David's hair. "David loves them and the petting zoo. We try to go at feeding time."

Colson's heart broke, and maybe his face reflected his sadness because Luis touched David's shoulder. "Don't feel sorry for him. David has a wonderful life. He has me, and more importantly, a brother who loves him and has devoted his life to taking care of him and making sure he has whatever he needs. He's very lucky." Luis held out a hand. "It was great to meet you. I hope you're writing something new?"

"I'm trying. Unfortunately, my home was broken into, so unless the police find my computer, after I leave here, I'll have to go buy a new one, then contend with insurance claims and all that."

"That's awful, I'm sorry. But I'm sure the police are doing whatever they can to find it." His eyes twinkled. "Especially since they thought you were a murderer. I read the story in the local paper. They need to redeem themselves."

His heart sank. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Sorry." Luis laughed. "I thought it was pretty funny. Maybe you can use it in your next book. I'd better go before the ice cream melts. I hope we'll see you again."

"See?" Hogan nudged him as Luis wheeled David to a bench and sat beside him. "You still have fans. Now what you need is distraction."

With the kids tagging along, they returned to the playground, and stood surveying as the kids ran all over the place. "You mean this isn't enough of one?"

Hogan snorted. "I mean a distraction of another kind. Go out and meet someone. I saw there was a new gay bar that opened near here. The O?" He shrugged. "Maybe you'll meet a guy. Or you could join a dating app." They took a seat on a bench not far from Luis and David.

"Since when are you into hookups? You were always about falling in love." His mouth drooped. "And you saw how well that worked out for me."

"Because he was the wrong guy. Evan was the kind who only wanted to be with you when things were going well. Look at that kid David." He tipped his head toward Luis and the young man. Luis smiled at him and waved, and Colson waved back.

Hogan dropped his voice an octave. "God forbid anything like that had happened to you, Evan would've bailed. Luis said David's brother has devoted himself to taking care of him. Find yourself a man like that."

Colson snorted. "Trust me, they don't exist. His brother must be a unicorn."