Prickly Business (24 page)

Though he’d dressed to impress, carefully avoiding his tightest skinny jeans in favor of perfectly cut dress slacks and a tailored, button-down shirt under a slate gray sweater, his gayness wasn’t much of a question. He felt like he had a sign over his head flashing “queer” in neon letters. Back home in Louisiana, he’d been wary of the police. In liberal Oregon, he wasn’t as concerned, but the nerves were hard to shake regardless.

If Alpha Odell wouldn’t take him seriously, why would the police? Would they see a flamey gay boy and dismiss him out of hand?

But what other options did he have? Lacey was still missing, and aside from Mr. Otis, and maybe Dylan, Avery was the only one who seemed to believe something bad had happened to her. He couldn’t back down now, for both her sake and Mr. Otis’s.

Dylan finished affixing the printout from the curb-side meter to the handlebars of the Softail and turned to face him. He raised a hand to Avery’s nape and squeezed gently. Avery didn’t know why that feeling was so reassuring, but somehow, it was. He calmed under Dylan’s touch and the steadiness of Dylan’s emotions. Avery shivered a little and closed his eyes.

Dylan’s grip tightened. “I’m here. We’re going in there together. No one will try to hurt you, and if they did, they’d live to regret it. Okay?”

Avery nodded without opening his eyes, which was how the press of Dylan’s lips surprised him. It was a quick, hard kiss, no tongue. Meant to reassure, not arouse. Still, Avery felt a bit light-headed when Dylan pulled away. He stared up at Dylan wide-eyed.

He hadn’t expected a kiss from Dylan in broad daylight on the sidewalk of a busy street. Not mere yards from the precinct doors, with both officers and regular pedestrians striding past them. Dylan didn’t seem concerned. He smiled down at Avery, a soft quirk of his lips, and his hand was firm on the back of Avery’s neck. For a moment, it felt like they were in their own private world. Avery wished they were. Wished he could be on his hands and knees with Dylan curled above him and buried deep.

Avery whined quietly, envisioning the scene, how it would feel. Not that frotting and jerking each other off weren’t amazing. But he was greedy for more. He wanted it all.

Dylan grinned like he’d read Avery’s mind. “Later. Come on.”

He turned and started toward the Central Precinct’s building. Adjusting the strap of his leather messenger bag, Avery trailed behind him.

The woman at the help desk in the lobby smiled as they approached. “Can I help you?”

Avery lifted his chin, trying not to let his anxiety show. “Yes. We’d like to speak to someone in Missing Persons.”

The woman—Ramona, according to her name badge—pulled open a drawer and started rifling through the contents. “Okay. I have the paperwork right here. If you want to take a seat and fill this out—”

“No,” Avery interrupted, “she’s already been reported missing. We have some information that might be useful to the detectives.”

Ramona stopped digging in her drawer and eyed him. “Well, I can let them know you’re here, but I don’t know if anyone will be available to talk to you right now. You might have to wait a bit.”

Avery glanced at Dylan, who gave Ramona an engaging smile. “That’s fine. We don’t have anywhere else we need to be.”

“All right. Your names, please?”

“Dylan Green and Avery Babineaux,” Dylan answered for them both. “Should we wait here in the lobby?”

Ramona nodded. “Yep. Take a seat. I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

Dylan put a hand on the small of his back, and Avery allowed himself to be steered toward a row of uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs. He avoided the one with the dark, suspicious stain and perched on the very edge of the chair next to it. Who knew what germs or bodily fluids might be on these things? The mere sight of some of the other people waiting in the lobby made him want to go home and scrub himself clean.

“Relax.” Dylan grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back until Avery had fully settled in the chair. “You shouldn’t wear five-hundred-dollar pants to the police station if you’re going to stress about getting them dirty.”

Avery gave him a surprised look. “How did you know how much they cost?”

Dylan groaned. “Christ, Av, I was joking. You seriously paid that much?”

“It was actually closer to six hundred with the custom-tailoring.”

Dylan shook his head. “I can’t believe you. It seems so wasteful.”

Avery stiffened despite himself. “Well, don’t worry. My parents cut me off, remember? I make a little above minimum wage these days. No more Dior Homme for me until I turn twenty-five unless I get lucky at the thrift shop again. I bet you’re happy I’ll be eating humble pie until then.”

Dylan didn’t react to his jibe. “So, what’s it going to be until you come of age for your trust fund? Levi’s?”

“Please.” Avery snorted a laugh, then looked around in embarrassment. No one was paying attention to them. He dipped his chin and fidgeted with one of the buckles on his messenger bag. “I know you think I’m shallow. It’s just… you have your motorcycles. I like nice clothes. I like to look my best. It makes me feel good, and—”

“Avery.” Dylan cupped his nape and tightened his grip until Avery raised his head. “You’re right. I’ve spent plenty of money on my bikes. You don’t owe me any explanations. I’m sorry for being judgmental. If it helps, you do look damn good in your clothes.” He pitched his voice for Avery’s ears alone. “And out of them.”

Avery smiled as his cheeks heated. Blushing. He was
blushing
. How did Dylan do this to him? He wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t. “You’re forgiven.”

Dylan shot him a cocky grin. His eyes were heavy-lidded and he sported a few days’ worth of scruff along his strong jaw. Avery had no trouble imagining how that bristly hair would feel on his thighs or how that smiling mouth would mold to his. If they hadn’t been in a police station, he would’ve been in Dylan’s lap.

To avoid the temptation, Avery looked around the lobby. People watching kept him entertained for a while, but repeated glances at his phone tracked the slow progression of an hour. Then two. Finally, when they’d been there for nearly two and a half hours and Avery was about to leap out of his skin, Ramona called them over.

“Go on down the hall. Third door on the left is an interview room. Detectives Harris and Melnyk will join you shortly.”

The room was empty when they arrived. The only furniture was a six-foot-long rectangular table with two chairs on either side. Avery hesitated once they were inside, unsure of whether to sit or stand until the detectives showed up. The decision was taken from his hands when two men strolled into the room a few seconds later.

One was tall and blond, not quite handsome, with pockmarked skin, broad cheekbones, and thin lips. The other had salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, and a stout, doughy body that probably hadn’t seen a gym in a decade.

“Frank Harris,” he said, holding out a hand to Dylan.

Dylan shook and then Avery was offered a handshake. He didn’t miss the slight sneer as Harris looked him over, though.

Tall-and-blond’s expression remained neutral. He inclined his head at them both. “I’m Detective Melnyk. We’re with the Missing Persons Unit. Why don’t you both take a seat?” He gestured toward the table with the legal pad he carried.

Avery and Dylan settled at one side of the table while the detectives arranged themselves on the other.

“Can you both state your names?” Melnyk said. Avery and Dylan both rattled off the information, with Avery being asked to spell out his surname. “So, Ramona told us you might have information about a missing persons’ case?”

“Yes.” Avery flipped open his messenger bag and withdrew a sheaf of papers. They were the profiles from the website he’d found of all the girls who’d disappeared recently. Lacey’s face smiled up at him from the top page. Her stats were listed next to the picture. “I’m sure the Portland PB is already aware of Lacey Acker, who vanished a couple of months ago. We frequented a couple of the same clubs, and I told her father I would ask around to see if anyone had information about her location.”

Harris arched a dark, bushy brow and eyed Avery like a rat that had scurried across his shoe. “So, what, you decided to play detective?”

Sweat prickled on Avery’s skin. Uncomfortable, he shifted in his chair. “Not exactly. I figured since we ran in similar circles, and I’m not a cop, maybe people would be willing to share with me.”

“And how’s that been going?” Melnyk’s blank expression hadn’t changed.

“Well, uh….” Avery spread out the top few pages in his pile. “One guy at the club mentioned hearing a bunch of rumors about human trafficking. I started researching, and I noticed a bit of a trend. A lot of the girls who’ve gone missing have disappeared under similar circumstances, leaving their possessions behind, and—”

Harris laid a thick finger on one of the sheets Avery had set down and drew it across the table. He and Melnyk exchanged a glance before Harris sighed. “Look, kid, whatever website you found these on needs to update its information. This girl here”—he tapped the paper—“she called her parents a few weeks ago, begging for money. Here they were wondering if she might be dead, but you know where she’d gone? She’d run off to New York with dreams of being in a Broadway show. Last I heard she was doing the walk of shame back home.”

He shoved the page at Avery, who had to slap at it to keep it from flying off the table. His face heated. “Okay. So we can discount her, but the others—”

“A lot of young women go missing,” Melnyk said flatly. “It’s a sad fact of life. They’re a vulnerable sect of the population, much like children. Rest assured, we’re looking into all these cases.”

Flustered, Avery shuffled his stack of paperwork. “You haven’t looked at the others. What if—”

“We don’t need to see them.” Harris leaned across the table with a sneer. “Go back to clubbing and primping your hair and whatever it is you do. Leave the investigating to the professionals.”

Avery flushed. “Professionals? If you’d been doing your jobs, maybe Lacey would’ve been found by now. Or all the other people who are still missing. Because I bet that New York girl is the exception not the rule, and it sounds like you didn’t even have a hand in locating her.”

Harris shot to his feet and aimed a finger at Avery, close enough that Avery could see his chewed nails and mangled cuticles. “You need to watch your tone, boy.”

Dylan growled softly and tensed as if about to stand. Avery grabbed his thigh to keep him from doing anything rash.

“Get your hand out of his face,” Dylan snapped.

“Or what?” Harris scoffed.

“Harris.” Melnyk’s voice was calm, his expression still blank. There wasn’t even a warning in his tone, but Harris subsided. Grumbling, he sat back down, and Melnyk turned his attention to Avery. “You need to stop playing private detective, Mr. Babineaux. You came in here and wasted our time with nothing but speculation, and it’s obvious you have no idea what you’re getting into. We know how to do our jobs. If we catch wind you’re still investigating these disappearances, we’ll charge you with obstruction of justice. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” Avery gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying anything else that might incite Harris and in turn set Dylan off.

“Good. I trust you can see yourselves out.”

Fuming, Avery shoved the paperwork back into his messenger bag and stood. He left the room knowing Dylan was right on his heels.

Once they were back at the motorcycle, Dylan spoke. “Maybe they were right.” Avery glared at him, but Dylan held up a hand. “I’m just saying, maybe you should leave it to them. It
is
their jobs. You don’t want to stir up trouble with the cops, do you?”

Avery heaved a frustrated sigh and brushed his bangs from his face. “No, but don’t you think they seemed too casual and unconcerned about it all? They wouldn’t even look at what I’d found. They wouldn’t let me tell them why Mr. Otis suspects something might’ve happened to Lacey.”

Dylan reached out to grab his upper arm. “Avery, I’ve heard the police are bombarded with tips and false confessions all the time. Yeah, they seemed a little dismissive, but you might be too if someone wandered into the precinct claiming to have information about one of your cases, only to produce some outdated printouts from the Internet. I mean, come on. Think about it from their perspective.”

Avery yanked out of Dylan’s grasp and furrowed his brows together. “You don’t believe me either.”

Dylan shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but they have experience doing this. You don’t. How are you going to find out something the cops couldn’t?”

Avery lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “The police aren’t infallible. They make mistakes all the time. Watch the news.”

Dylan rubbed a hand over his short hair, then sighed. “I know.”

Avery turned away from him, his eyes stinging from the humiliation of what had happened in the station and from Dylan’s lack of support. Fuck if he’d cry about it, though. The Babineauxs didn’t cry in public. He sniffed and straightened his back. “I’m going to keep investigating Lacey’s disappearance. I promised Mr. Otis I would.”

Dylan drew his attention with a hand on his shoulder. Avery met Dylan’s gaze, which had softened somewhat. He looked troubled but unsurprised by Avery’s stubbornness. “I’ll help you. In whatever way I can, okay? But if things get too heavy, I want you to promise me you’ll back down and let me call in an anonymous tip to the cops. I don’t want you hurt. I want Lacey found, yes, but your safety is all that matters to me.”

Avery deflated a bit as some of the steel fled his spine. He let himself lean into Dylan for a moment. “Okay. I promise.”

T
HE
LOOK
on Avery’s face—half resignation and half determination—tore something open in Dylan. He didn’t understand it. It was uncomfortable and confining as hell, his need to protect all of Avery, curl him in bubble wrap so the assholes of the world couldn’t hurt him. Worse was the desire to make his mate smile again. And since when did that matter to Dylan—ever?