Chapter Four

Topher

I drummed my fingers against the dashboard to the Led Zeppelin song playing in my head. I'd struggled with the drum solo in "Moby Dick" during the last family jam session, and it was still bugging me a month later. While I'd never match the talents of John Bonham, I knew I could do better. Rhythmically tapping my fingers against the nearest surface was about more than perfecting a drum track. It was a trick I'd learned at an early age to manage my nervous energy when I couldn't physically expend it. The habit came in handy while keeping my eyes trained on the house we had under surveillance. According to an anonymous tipster, the person who'd brutally murdered Yolanda Purky was squatting in a vacant house on the corner of Stevens and Forty-Sixth. Even in the dark, I could tell the structure had been abandoned for a long time. The house was dark and derelict, and the yard had been surrendered to Mother Nature a long time ago. The grass and weeds were nearly as tall as the chain-link fence surrounding the property. There was no telling what dangerous hazards awaited the unlucky person who ventured back there. Please don't let it be me.

"What's that drumming sound?" Diego asked through our comms.

I stilled my hands and placed them in my lap. "Oops. My bad."

"Why?" Coy asked. "Is it a hoard of your eager fans running toward you?"

I rolled my eyes and would've ignored him if not for the others listening through our comms. "I was drumming my fingers on the dashboard."

Diego chuckled. "I should've remembered that from our early days on the job."

"You're still doing that?" Coy asked. "I thought you would've outgrown that habit by now. It drove our teachers nuts."

Not just teachers either. My family, friends, and my girlfriends all wanted to strangle me over the habit. The only one who didn't seem to mind was Julian. He always tried to place the song based on the beat I tapped out. It was our version of Name that Tune . A stakeout wasn't the time to dwell on my shortcomings, failed relationships, or my growing obsession with my sister's best friend.

"Look alive, everyone," I said into the mic. "If the tipster is correct, our perp will be here soon." My comment received several affirmative responses from the task force, but Diego wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to tease me again.

"How sure are you about this tipster?" Diego asked. "What if it's just another enamored lady hoping to get you alone?"

Several chuckles filtered through my earpiece, and I rolled my eyes. "The joke would be on her." She'd figure out the most exciting thing about me was my job and maybe my part-time gig in the family band. She'd find me boring and dull just like the rest of my exes.

"You've probably got the next ex-girlfriend lined up already," Sergeant Chen said. Kyomo Chen was the new leader of the Major Crimes Unit, who had supplied backup to the smaller CCU and was the reason Coy Beaufort had joined the mission. He sure as hell hadn't tagged along at my request. I'd pulled Diego aside after our debriefing and made him promise that Coy wouldn't be the one to take down the suspect no matter what.

"Leave Carnegie alone," Sawyer said.

"Yeah," Holly added. "You're all just jealous because Topher has collected more hearts in three days than you knuckleheads could gather in a lifetime."

"Okay, okay," Diego said. "I'll lay off." I shook my head because the reprieve wouldn't last long. "But seriously, you think this is a solid tip, Toph?"

I knew most of the calls into the hotline over the past three days were dead ends, but I'd still followed up on them. One particular tip had stood out among them and made my blood zing. Some would call it a Spidey sense, but I wasn't under the delusion I possessed superhero powers, though I'd lost track of the number of people who'd said my square jaw belonged in comics.

I couldn't fly. I didn't have X-ray vision. I couldn't heal quickly. I was just an ordinary man with an extraordinarily diligent streak that wouldn't let me give up until I got justice for the seventy-five-year-old widowed mother of two, grandmother of five, and teacher who'd molded thousands of children's lives through music. My soft spot for music teachers had shone through during my interview with Jude. I'd let my guard down, hoping my relatability would result in information on who was behind the homicide that took Yolanda's life. My plea hadn't been a gimmick, and though I'd taken a lot of ribbing from my fellow officers, I'd do it all over again if given the chance because the approach had resulted in hundreds of tips. I just ignored the dozen or so marriage proposals.

"Toph?" Diego prodded. "You there?"

"I'm here," I replied. "The tipster knew details of the case that SPD never revealed to the public or press. They provided the connection between Mrs. Purky and our suspect, Terrence Ramone. The suspect wasn't known to her children or neighbors, so he's flown under the radar all these years. According to the tip, Terrence had moved to Savannah a few months before Mrs. Purky's death. He'd fallen on hard times, and the kind woman had hired him to do some odd jobs around the house. That's how he'd stumbled onto the nest egg she had stashed in her bedroom. Granted, the tipster could just as likely be our killer and be setting up this Terrence guy to take the fall, but we won't know until we take him in."

My phone vibrated in my pocket, momentarily diverting my attention. I pulled it out to ensure there wasn't a family emergency. The text was from Harper, reminding me that The Next Face in Fashion would be on in a few hours. Definitely not an emergency. She probably just wanted to rile me up because I loathed reality television, but the joke was on her. I'd take any excuse to be near Julian, especially when he was giving lively commentary on the reality show he'd once appeared on.

Stakeout, I tapped out. Be home as soon as possible.

"Yo," Diego said. "Heads up. There's a dude approaching at two o'clock."

I fumbled the phone and nearly dropped it to the floorboard before sliding it back into my pocket. After a deep breath to steady my nerves, I turned my head to look for our target. The sidewalk was clear, so I checked the other direction but still didn't see anyone.

"I got nada," Sawyer said.

"Same," Holly replied.

"My bad," Diego said. "My two o'clock. Your ten."

I squinted into the darkness but still didn't see anything. The streetlamps closest to the abandoned house were out, which likely wasn't a coincidence.

"Be patient," Diego urged. "He's probably just too far down the street yet. See that old rusty Buick?"

"Which one?" the rest of us asked.

"The faded green one parked in the middle of the block. Our guy is fast approaching that section of the sidewalk, so we'll be able to get a strong visual."

My heart thundered in my chest as the seconds ticked by. Then a tall, skinny white guy stepped into the circle of light, pushing a grocery cart. The tipster had said Terrence Ramone spent his days panhandling at various spots throughout the city but returned to the abandoned house at night. The target wore a ball cap, shadowing his face so I couldn't tell if he wore glasses and had a beard, but the straggly, long dark hair matched the tipster's description, as did the man's unusual gait.

"The dude really does walk like a sasquatch," Chen said. "This is your op, Topher. How do you want to play it?"

I was parked nearest to the house but on the opposite side of the street from where Terrence Ramone approached. "I'm going to ease out of the passenger door and crouch down at the back of the vehicle. It's dark, but I'll still be able to see him approach the house. My goal is to take him down before he reaches the porch. We don't know what we'll get into if forced to pursue him inside the residence. This could be an ambush."

"I want everyone else to merge on foot," Chen said. "Stick to the shadows, crouch low, and stay on the grass to avoid spooking our guy. We'll be in position to cover you, Toph."

I took one last steadying breath and slid across the back seat to open the rear passenger door. The interior lights didn't come on when I pulled the handle because they'd been disabled when the motor pool converted the older Cadillac to a stakeout vehicle. Ignoring my pounding heart, I crouched down and tuned my senses to the sidewalk across the street. I eased my gun from its holster and slid the safety off. Terrence's footsteps and the squeaky wheels on his grocery cart grew louder as he drew nearer, but my target wasn't close enough for me to make my move. I risked a quick peek over the trunk of the Caddy. Terrence was still a few houses away from the intersection, so I eased along the side of the long vehicle until I came up even with its rear corner. I'd just started to make my approach when I heard a car heading in my direction.

"Everyone, take cover," I whispered.

"Roger," they all responded.

The car slowly drove by my location before turning at the next intersection farther down the street. By the time it was safe for me to ease out from behind the Caddy, Terrence Ramone had reached the sidewalk in front of the dilapidated structure and had turned toward the porch. Shit .

I burst from my hiding spot with my gun trained in front of me. "Yo, Terrence!" I called out, aiming for a laid-back vibe to get his attention without spooking him. The suspect jerked and spun around. "Savannah PD! Freeze and get those hands where I can see them!" I heard the team moving in through my earpiece and was about to tell Terrence we had him surrounded, but the startled suspect recovered quicker than I would've liked. He abandoned his cart and darted right for the overgrown backyard.

Fuck me!

I didn't have time to ponder the types of creepy crawlies or slithering snakes hiding in the tall blades. I launched myself after Terrence, and suddenly the pursuit felt like a throwback to my linebacker days on the gridiron. Gripping the top of the metal fence, I whispered a silent prayer and used my momentum to vault into the overgrown backyard.

"Stop!" I yelled when my feet landed on the other side of the fence. I immediately sprinted after the suspect, noting the grass and weeds were nearly up to my waist. "I just want to talk to you," I tried.

"Yeah, that's why you have your gun out," Terrence yelled.

Through the comms, I heard the rest of the team moving to intercept Terrence once he cleared the fence on the opposite side of the yard.

"Toph, you okay?" Diego asked.

"In pursuit," I replied tersely. "Target in sight."

I once again tried to get Terrence to stop, but the skinny man turned on his jets instead. By some miracle, we'd nearly reached the other side of the backyard without either of us stumbling over tree roots or detritus left behind by a previous owner. I'd almost caught Terrence by the time he reached the other fence. With a good vault, I'd easily catch the suspect within a few strides. If not me, someone on my team would. I placed my hand on the top metal rail and got decent height, but a jagged metal section of fencing at the top snagged my jeans midthigh. Instead of the denim tearing free, the imprisoned fabric caused me to pitch forward. The next thing I knew, I was falling face-first toward the ground. A few seconds before impact, my jeans ripped, and I twisted my upper body so my left shoulder took the brunt of the collision instead of my head. Unfortunately, it was the same shoulder I'd had surgically repaired after playing college football. The pain was so severe that I nearly blacked out. Stars danced before my eyes, and I feared I'd undone all Dr. Chu's good work.

I yanked my leg until the fabric ripped free, and I felt a little woozy when I pushed myself into a sitting position and looked for Terrence Ramone. I just needed a moment to gather myself before I resumed the pursuit. My head swiveled in the direction of the running and shouting sounds coming from a dozen feet away. The cone of light cast by the streetlamp acted as a spotlight, allowing me to watch as Coy fucking Beaufort closed in on my suspect with Diego quickly gaining on both of them. Come on, Diego. Don't let me down. As if he heard me, my friend sprinted past Coy, then performed a beautiful flying tackle to take Terrence Ramone down. Chen and Holly ran up to assist Diego while Coy scowled down at him.

Sawyer dropped to the ground beside me. "You okay, Toph?"

"Yeah, Sarge. Just rattled my cage a bit."

Sawyer shined his cell phone flashlight in my face. "Do you need medical attention?"

"I might now," I said grumpily, throwing up an arm to shield my eyes from the blinding light.

Sawyer chuckled and extended his hand to help me up.

The dizziness and disorientation faded as adrenaline dulled my discomfort and heightened my senses. "We've got him!" I cheered euphorically when Diego pulled a cuffed Terrence Ramone to his feet, even though it was just the beginning. We'd have to interrogate the man, and it wasn't likely he'd voluntarily confess. We had forty-eight hours to hold Ramone and get a subpoena for a DNA sample. It would be months before we would get the results back, but if Terrence's fingerprints matched the bloody ones at the crime scene, it would be enough to formally charge him with Yolanda's murder. The DNA evidence would just be the nail in his coffin—figuratively and maybe even literally.

Porchlights came on up and down the street as the team exchanged high fives. A couple of neighbors called out to see what was going on. Chen, Sawyer, and Coy decided to chat with the neighbors, both to assure them everything was okay and to find out what they knew about the man who'd been squatting in the abandoned house. Holly, Diego, and I headed back to the precinct with Terrence.

As predicted, our suspect claimed not to know anyone named Yolanda Purky and denied killing her or anyone else. Terrence was pretty convincing and acted as cool as a cucumber until I fingerprinted him, and Holly asked him to voluntarily submit his DNA for testing. His entire tune changed from patient and helpful to stubbornly mute in moments.

"You should do everyone a favor and confess," Diego told him. "I think the DA will go easier on you if you save the taxpayers a ton of money. I bet she'll at least take the death penalty off the table."

"Death penalty?" Terrence asked with a slight quiver in his voice.

Holly stood opposite him and crossed her arms over her chest. "It never fails to amaze me how brave these assholes are when they enter the home of a defenseless woman, bludgeon her to death, and steal the money she'd been tucking away all her life. You killed Yolanda Purky and stayed in the house with her dead body for hours, tearing out drywall and looking for hidden stashes of money."

"Then you fixed yourself a nice breakfast," Diego added before looking over at me. "What was it again?"

I'd never forget the Purky crime scene photos and police reports for as long as I lived. "Poached eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and toast," I replied with a snarl. We already knew the DNA on the fork belonged to a male, so it was just a matter of comparing the previous test to Terrence's sample.

Holly shook her head. "And you have the audacity to get a quivering lip when we mention you'll face the death penalty for your crimes. Un-fucking-believable, you coward." She pushed back from the table. "He doesn't deserve a deal. I say we let Gillian Babineaux have her way with him in court." Holly walked over, yanked the interrogation room door open, and gestured for a uniformed officer to take Terrence away.

Sawyer and Chen entered the room a few minutes later. They'd made it back to the station in time to observe the interrogation.

"Nice touch, Hols," Chen said, bumping his fist against hers.

"We'll have results on the fingerprints soon," Sawyer said. "I hope we can get a judge to sign off on the subpoena for a DNA sample."

"The bloody fingerprints will be enough to convict," I said. "But proving Terrence casually made breakfast after he killed Yolanda and ransacked her house will guarantee he never knows what freedom feels like again." And that wasn't conjecture on our part. The ME's official time of death was between nine and midnight on Saturday night. Mrs. Purky's oldest daughter had swung by to pick her up for church on Sunday morning. The house had been ransacked, the walls were demolished, and she'd discovered her slain mother in her bedroom. When the daughter ran into the kitchen to call for help, she'd notice the breakfast remnants on the table and noticed the stove was still warm. If she'd arrived earlier, she might've been a victim too.

"Damn straight," Chen said.

After a few celebratory hugs and high fives, the group parted ways.

"Wait up," Diego called out, halting my progress. He jogged to catch up and then slapped me on the shoulder. Thankfully it was my good one. "Where you headed so fast? Come over to my place for a few beers and some baseball."

"Oh man, that sounds great, but I already made other plans."

Diego narrowed his eyes. "With whom?"

"It's not a date, D. Let it go." I could tell Diego anything, but I was still struggling to put my feelings for Julian into words, another habit I'd carried over from my childhood. I tended to communicate through music, but I didn't think Diego would welcome me bursting into song in the precinct parking lot. That would surely get the tongues wagging.

My friend quirked a brow. "That's exactly what I'd say if I were trying to hide something."

"I promise nothing hinky is going on. Go home to your handsome husband."

"What about something kinky?" Diego pressed.

I snorted. "Sadly, no." I nearly gave in and went to Diego's house just to shut him up, but I couldn't. Check that. I definitely could change my mind and share a few beers and catch a few innings of baseball, but I didn't want to back out of my commitment. "Rain check?" I asked.

Diego started walking to his car. "I'm holding you to it," he called over his shoulder.

"I'll bring the beer. You grill the burgers."

"You got it," Diego said, then turned around.

I noted the time on the dashboard when I pulled into the apartment complex parking lot. I took the stairs to the fourth floor to burn off the excess energy buzzing through me instead of using the elevator, but my decision only seemed to amp me up even more. Harper was in the kitchen making popcorn when I walked through the door.

"How's my favorite brother?" she asked.

I could point out that I was her only brother, but I rubbed my knuckles over her dark hair instead.

"Jerk," Harper said as she hastily straightened her ponytail. She placed an overflowing bowl of popcorn in my hands and pointed to the living room. My three sisters inherited our mom's dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, elfin features, and petite stature. I got my tawny hair, amber eyes, brawny lumberjack body, and square jaw from our dad. "How'd the stakeout go?" Harper asked as she followed me with a smaller bowl of popcorn in one hand and three drinks tucked into the crook of her opposite elbow. We had our viewing routine down to an art. Julian and I liked our popcorn lightly buttered and salted, so we shared a bowl. Harper preferred to drown her kernels in fat, cholesterol, and sodium and made a separate bowl for herself.

My gaze landed on Julian. His damp brown hair curled around his face, and his piercing green eyes were glued to his phone.

"Another Grindr notification?" Harper asked.

Julian nodded without looking up. "I had no idea there were so many gay and bisexual men in Savannah."

"Or you might've moved here sooner?" Harper prompted.

Julian smiled, but I couldn't tell if it was a response to Harper's question or because the Grinder app had matched him with someone good. What if I'd waited too long to make a move? The last thought knocked the wind out of my sails.

"This guy is a pompous son of a bitch," Julian grumbled. "Hard pass."

Harper snorted. "Um, don't most of them fit into that category on Grindr?"

"Yeah," Julian said, "but I have high standards even for my hookups. I must at least like the man if I'm going to bend over and—"

Julian's words died when he looked up and saw me crossing the room. He narrowed his eyes and raked his gaze from my work boots to the roots of my hair. My skin tingled as if Julian had physically caressed me, and then our eyes met. He cocked his head to the side.

"Something's wrong," Julian stated, his gaze darkening with concern.

I shook my head. "Nope. In fact, everything is right." Unless you counted the jealousy burning a hole in my gut like battery acid.

"Are we still talking about the stakeout, or did one of those marriage proposals land?" Harper teased.

Julian stiffened and shifted his gaze back to the television. Harper, unaware she'd hurt Julian's feelings, set the drinks and her bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and plopped down beside him on the couch.

"I was referring to the stakeout." I placed the big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and sat on Julian's other side. I fought the urge to lean closer and inhale his intoxicating scent, a sexy combination of a masculine woodsy smell with a hint of something softer and fragile. "We got a helpful tip, which resulted in us finding the right person."

Julian turned and looked at me with the kindest eyes I'd ever seen. He patted my leg but left his hand on my thigh instead of removing it. I stared at his long fingers, willing them to move higher until his voice cut through my fantasy. I tuned in long enough to hear him acknowledge how difficult this investigation had been for me.

"Yeah," I said. "All homicides are horrible, but some just get deeper under my skin."

I gave them a quick rundown of how the stakeout had ended, glossing over the part where I'd ripped my pants and playing up the part where Diego bested Coy and tackled the perp to the ground.

Julian narrowed his eyes. "Why does Coy's name sound familiar? I don't think I've met him."

Harper coughed like she'd choked on a popcorn kernel.

"You okay?" I asked.

She nodded, then took a sip. "I'm just shocked Julian doesn't remember Coy Beaufort is your lifelong nemesis." She tsk ed and shook her head. "And you call yourself Topher's number one fan."

Julian and Harper exchanged a look I couldn't decipher. Annoyance? Warning maybe? The two had never been at odds in three years, so I had to be misreading the situation.

Julian looked at me and smiled. "Congratulations on the big takedown." He raked his gaze over me again, and I swear it was hotter than the first time. "Clearly, you've changed pants."

"I had extra clothes in my locker."

"Where are the ripped ones?" he asked. "I can probably fix them."

I reached for a handful of popcorn and smiled at him. "This is rich." When Julian quirked a brow, I said, "You're usually trying to get my pants off, not put them on."

Harper choked on her popcorn again and stared daggers at me, but Julian's grin lit up the room. He leaned forward, and I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he said, "I'd settle for getting in them."

I squeezed my fist around the popcorn so tight the kernels exploded out of my hand and landed on my lap and the floor. I picked up the mess off the carpet first before cleaning off my lap. Julian, the little imp, grabbed the piece of popcorn closest to my crotch and popped it into his mouth. I couldn't tear my eyes away from his lips as he chewed. Once they stopped moving, I forced myself to meet his gaze.

"So you're not going to swipe right on the pompous ass?" I managed to ask.

"Swiping right is Tinder, not Grindr," Julian said.

"What's the difference?"

"One is for dating and the other is for fucking," Harper replied. She gyrated her hips in a grind that made me grimace. "I'll let you figure out which is which."

I'd reintroduced the topic and didn't want to let it drop, so I said, "You're not interested in dating?"

Julian tilted his head to the side and slowly licked his bottom lip as he contemplated how to respond. I could see the debate in his eyes, but what exactly was he deciding? How far to push me? Whether I could handle the truth? After a brief pause, he straightened his head and lobbed a grenade at me in the form of a flirty smile. "Tinder is for people looking to find a mate. I've found mine," Julian said with a wink. "I use Grindr to work out the kinks until you come to your senses. I mean, you haven't exactly been celibate these past three years."

A wave of heat engulfed my body, and I reached for my drink before I could respond. Julian's lips curled into a knowing smile as he watched me gulp down half my beverage before setting my glass back on the table. I cleared my throat and said, "When you say kinks, do you mean maintenance to prevent your skills from getting rusty or are you referring to kinky sex?"

Julian opened his mouth to respond, but Harper loudly announced the show had started. "To be continued," he said with a wink.

I forced my attention to the television where the people on-screen were talking about things I didn't understand. My knowledge about designing and crafting clothes was nada, but Julian and Harper had strong opinions about the reality show and the newest fashion designers competing for a big win. I was entertained by their reactions to the drama unfolding on the screen.

Julian had competed on the show before moving to Savannah and had finished as the runner-up. He interjected with his firsthand experiences and shared production secrets. I had covertly watched every episode Julian had appeared in at least three times and was convinced Bren with no last name had made a deal with a demon because there was no way he would've beaten Julian otherwise. Just Bren had no business making it to the finals at all. Again, if I could see that, how had he survived one panel of judges let alone all of them? According to the many online forums I read, art was subjective, not objective. I'd said similar things about music over the years, so the logic wasn't new to me. It just felt more personal because I knew firsthand how badly Julian had wanted to win and was aware of some of the backlash he'd faced afterward. Greer Spalding Designs had shot to the top of my family's do-not-support list after Julian told us she'd blackballed him.

The longer I sat on the sofa, the more my adrenaline rush faded, and my body stiffened with discomfort from my impact with the ground. I tried subtly rotating my left shoulder because I didn't want Harper to fuss. She and Julian seemed too focused on the show to notice me. The camera panned to an up-close shot of Bren, distracting me from my growing aches. I snorted and said, "He's had some work done."

I felt two sets of eyes swivel in my direction and quickly searched for something to say that wouldn't divulge my little secret. I had no reason to know what Bren looked like since this was only the second season we'd watched together, and the asshat hadn't appeared in the previous season. I hadn't confessed to anyone that I'd watched Julian's season and didn't want to do so now. It would just prompt questions I wasn't prepared to answer.

Julian tilted his head to the side and studied me. "Yes, Bren has had some surgical work done, but how would you know that?"

"A promo I saw," I replied dismissively. "It included footage from Bren's season. He looks a lot different in this episode."

I moved to grab a fistful of popcorn, and Julian must have had the same idea because he leaned forward at the same time. Our fingers bumped and lingered amid the buttery kernels, then Julian looked over at me and smiled. A frizzle of heat bloomed in my gut.

Holy shit. If Harper hadn't been sitting there, I would've pulled him onto my lap and kissed him senseless.