Chapter Three

Trey watched Demi walk away, transfixed more then he should have been on the way the boy’s hips swayed and the pretty shine of his black hair against the early sunlight. Jesus, how sick was he that seeing the boy made him happy, even as he was on his way to view a murdered priest? He blamed it on the residual of his dreams. When Demi had called him, he’d been hard and aching. Since leaving Lux, his discussions with Harry and Lucien had caused his mind to reel more and more with the implications of what he’d agreed to.

“Damn, Trey, it’s too early for murder after a night like I had.”

Trey turned to a bleary-eyed Karl. “Really? I lost track of you once I came down from my meet-up with Demi’s folks. Are you saying that you and Kitty…” He didn’t know how to end the question.

Karl gave him a smug look. “I’m not one to tell tales out of school. Let’s just say I made progress on that front.” He glanced around. “How did we catch this one? It’s a little out of our district?”

“We haven’t yet, officially. I got the call from Demi. He, Jase and Emil’s sous chef, Damien, found the body. I’ve put a message in to the lieutenant to square it with him.”

“Is that wise? I mean, if the kid’s involved…” Now it was Karl’s turn to run out of words. “You don’t mean it’s”—his voice dropped—“our old space friends making trouble?”

“Nah.” Trey made sure no one was about. “Demi would have said. It’s just an ordinary murder.” He frowned. “At least, I think it is. Come on. No sense standing around with our thumbs up our asses.”

The back of the church led them directly into an open room. It held long tables on one end and a variety of scarred and rickety-looking ones scattered along with mismatched chairs around the rest of the room. It was easy to see how it functioned as a place to serve the needy a quick meal.

None of that held his attention for long, though. The priest lay sprawled across the room in a pool of blood. He didn’t need Demi’s otherworldly sense of smell to detect the metallic scent of the stuff. He zeroed his gaze on the victim’s throat and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he saw that it had been slashed, not ripped.

“That answers that, I guess,” Karl observed. “Just plain old murder.”

“Yeah.”

Trey trod lightly toward the body, peering at it as best he could without disturbing the coroner, a new guy named Vincente, and the rest of the crime scene crew that was already in the process of collecting evidence. He squatted down on his haunches and focused on the neck wound.

“Looks like a single slash,” he observed to no one in particular.

“Yes,” Vincente agreed. “No hesitation cut, just a quick one, deep enough to nearly take the head off.”

Trey winced. “Christ, who’d do this to a priest?”

“I doubt the motive was money, given the poverty of this area,” Karl chimed in.

“I see no signs of a struggle.” The coroner stood and quickly made the sign of the cross. “It’s a terrible thing, a priest of all people. I can’t fathom it, not that any murder makes sense to me.”

Vincente sighed. “I’ll know more once I’ve had him on my slab, but I’d say he was grabbed from behind and killed within seconds—no time to fight back, not likely to have been able to utter a sound. Not that there would have been anyone lurking around to hear.”

Karl grunted. “One of his flock, maybe. I bet a lot of these kids are on drugs. Maybe it was a simple matter of robbery after all.”

Trey stood. “How much could a parish priest have on him?”

“A few bucks, but then that’s all it takes for a few tabs of Molly.”

On the surface, it sounded plausible. He’d seen strung out people kill for less. Still, it didn’t quite sit well with him. “Let’s go talk to the boys, see what this Damien in particular knows.”

Leaving Vincente and his team to carry on, they left the scene and headed in the direction the boys had gone. They found them huddled together in the vestry between the back room and the small chapel. The sous chef, Damien, was sandwiched between Demi and Jase. They were giving the grieving boy as much comfort as he supposed they could, patting his back and murmuring soft words too low for Trey to make out. Damien’s head was bowed and he was obviously crying.

Trey hated to intrude on the kid’s misery, but such was the nature of his job. “Hey, guys.”

Three heads popped up. Demi’s face lit up for a second, making Trey feel ten feet tall, before his expression turned somber again. Jase’s gaze didn’t quite meet Trey’s, but then again, Emil’s boy was always skittish around him. After the life he’d led as a trafficked teen, that wasn’t surprising. It was Damien who kept Trey’s attention, though. Of any of them, he was the one most likely to know something of value.

The sous chef wiped the tears from his eyes and took a notably deep breath. “You want to speak with me, yeah?”

Trey approached. “That’s right. I need to know exactly what happened here this morning and what you can tell me about who might want this Father Ted dead.”

The boy shook his head. “No one. No one would want to kill him. He was an awesome man, really caring. He made a difference for lots of kids like me, making sure we didn’t go hungry, at the very least.”

He paused, shuddered then continued. “He helped many of us get off the streets, stop, you know, turning tricks for food and a bed.”

“Huh.” Trey eyed Karl and could see the wheels turning inside his partner’s head. “He took a personal interest, did he?”

Damien’s eyes narrowed. “Not like you’re implying.” He huffed. “I mean, I know what’s happened with lots of priest, but Father Ted wasn’t like that. He was a genuinely good man, no funny business. No weird vibes. Just real concern and a dedication for helping homeless kids survive in ways that didn’t involve selling themselves. He made me see that I had more to offer, motivated me to apply for a decent job. That’s what led me to Emil.”

“Okay.” He rubbed his chin while considering how best to proceed. It really wouldn’t be appropriate for him to interview Demi, and he wanted to speak with Damien alone besides. “Hey, Demi and Jase, will you please take Sergeant Anderson somewhere else so he can run through what happened with you?”

A quick flash in Demi’s eyes indicated he wasn’t happy about that plan. To his credit, he quickly banked it, though. No bratty comeback, which delighted Trey.

“Sure.” Demi stood.

So did Jase. “I’ve been here before and that door leads to a small office.”

Trey waited until the three of them were out of sight before sitting in the spot vacated by Demi. “I know this is hard, Damien.”

The boy eyed him. “It fucking sucks.” He heaved a sigh. “But, while cops aren’t my favorite people given my past experience, I do know that you’re a friend of Emil and his family, so I trust you. And, I do want to help catch whoever did this. Ask me whatever you like. I’ll answer as honestly as I can.”

“Good. I appreciate it.” Taking out his notebook and pen, he started running through the usual questions. “When you arrived, did you notice anyone or anything out of the ordinary?”

Damien shook his head while he stared at the back of his hands. “Nothing. The alley was empty, which it always is this time of day. Father Ted rides—rode—a bike. He always brings it inside because he wasn’t naïve. This is not the kind of neighborhood where you leave stuff outside.”

The boy sat up suddenly. “Wait. I don’t remember seeing it where he usually keeps it over by the serving tables.” His shoulders slumped. “Then again, maybe I just missed it, because all I could focus on was him lying there.”

Trey said nothing. His cop’s eyes had taken in the entire scene and there had been no bike. It was possible the priest had stored it somewhere else. He’d have a good look around, but it was also likely the killer had taken it. If so, that probably indicated that one of the priest’s flock was the culprit. A street kid could use a bike. Or, someone wanted him to think that was who to look for. Trey couldn’t rule out anything.

It was gratifying, as well, that this was something utterly human. He wasn’t seeking an alien vampire for this crime. God, how his life had changed.

“Tell me about the way Father Ted ran his outreach program. Did he go into the streets himself, approach the kids directly?”

Damien nodded. “Yeah, he did. He used to hang out in what he called his priest-lite mode. He wore the collar so that we knew where he was coming from, but also dressed down in jeans and kicks that looked as old as he did.”

Trey tapped his pen as he pictured the man. Hard to tell someone’s age when their face was a grimace of deadly pain and fear. “He was, what, late thirties, early forties?”

“I guess. Sorry, but if you’re older than twenty-five, you’re like middle-aged in my book.”

Trey winced. Not that he was surprised by Damien’s viewpoint. He’d held the same one when he’d been in his early twenties. He didn’t mind time marching on, felt just as young and liked the wisdom he was acquiring with each passing year. But for his unfathomable relationship with Demi, he wouldn’t be giving his age any thought at all. When he pictured being with that boy, however, he felt every one of his years as if they were dog ones.

“No worries. So, what was his usual pitch when he approached kids? What did he say to you, for example?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Damien’s lips. “He’d start with ‘Are you hungry?’, like any teenager isn’t always. Then he’d take you to a nearby diner and buy you a burger or whatever.” He pulled his gaze up toward Trey. “Of course, I thought he was just another trick. Some guys are skittish or think they have to butter you up by feeding you first.”

“His collar didn’t alleviate your concerns?”

“Nope. You know how it is on the streets. Trust no one and every guy is either a mark or a source of danger. I was really surprised when he ended our meal by giving me a card for a shelter catering to LGBTQ kids. Then he gave me another one for the soup kitchen. You have to leave the shelter during the day and it doesn’t provide meals.”

“I think I know the place.” Such shelters were few and far between when it came to this part of the population.

“I almost threw them away, pissed because while the meal was nice, I’d hoped to make money by at least giving him a blowie. In the end, it was a good thing I shoved the cards in my back pocket, ‘cause the next guy who approached me tried to beat the crap out of me and not pay. I could take the one, but not the other. I went to the shelter out of a desperate need for a safe place to lick my wounds.”

This wasn’t a new story. Trey had heard variations of it throughout his career as a cop. He imagined most of the boys working at Lux had similar ones. Mackie certainly did, as did Jase. The fact that the latter boy’s abuse had occurred in nice bedrooms and not the streets hardly mattered. In many ways, the Stelalux family had done more to help humans than their own kind.

Damien continued his story without prompting. “Anyway, I came here the next morning and got to talking more with Father Ted. I eventually ended up helping out and realized I liked working with food. I’ve been trying to help whenever I can now that I have my life on track. Emil’s been really generous, too.”

Sniffing back tears, he ended with, “I just can’t believe he’s dead. Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. Did you ever know of him having a run-in with any of the boys? Pimps? Drug dealers?”

“Not that I can think of,” the boy replied with a shake of his head. “I mean, maybe he ruffled some feathers, you know? But to kill him like that?”

He shook his head again and swiped at new tears making tracks down his face. “It was such a good night at the club. I love the new kitchen and it was awesome to be there, cooking with Emil. Coming here this morning with all the amazing leftovers felt so good. I was riding the high after being up all night, but it was all good because I know how much the kids count on this. Oh, shit! They’ll all be coming around expecting to fill their stomachs and on top of everything else, they’re going to go away hungry.”

Crap. Trey hadn’t thought about that. Maybe he shouldn’t even care, given the gravity of the murder. Still, he could only imagine how dependent some of those kids had become on this handout.

He stood. “Let’s go get the others and see what we can do about that. If you think of anything else, call me, yeah?” He held out his card.

With one last wipe of his face, Damien took the card. “Absolutely.”

Karl and the others were easy to find. Seeing Demi again goosed his spirits in a way that made him feel guilty. He tried to ignore both reactions as he ushered the boys outside. As Damien had predicted, there were a couple of dozen teens milling about at the mouth of the alley. Some were openly crying, testament to how news of the murder had spread already. Hard to hide the coroner’s wagon and the rest of the official vehicles and investigators.

His arrival was met with some openly hostile looks. A couple of kids took off, as if worried he was there to hassle them. He couldn’t blame them for their distrust, given how often beat cops did stop and frisk these street teens, and for good reason. Drug use was rampant, as was prostitution. People like the late Father Ted were often the only thing standing between these tossed-away waifs and exploitation or even death. He tried to adopt an air of friendliness and non-aggression, but no one was buying the act. Gazes were averted, at the very least.

Although it earned him a few skeptical looks from his own people, he let his actions do his talking for him. He wanted to interview more than just Damien about the priest’s recent movements and possible enemies. He knew that if he took one step closer to the huddled group, they’d all scatter like birds. So, biding his time, he instead allowed the boys to take the food they’d brought and carry it down to the street. He stationed a uniform nearby to keep an eye out and left Damien in charge of dispersing what he had in an orderly fashion. It was a Band-Aid on the problem, but something told him Emil would be starting a new venture at the club involving homeless kids getting free meals. Fortunately, that wasn’t going to be his headache, but this goodwill gesture would hopefully be remembered if he started chasing down leads among the homeless youth of Boston.

Before he could get back to work, however, Demi broke free and approached. He shot Trey a shy smile. “Thanks for this.” He gestured to the pile of food. “It will help make Damien feel better and some of these kids really look like they could use it.”

“Yeah. It’s hard for people like us to remember that not everyone has a family that takes care of them.”

Demi nodded solemnly. “I know. I never used to, but ever since…you know, Wales, I’ve really come to appreciate how great my fathers are. And you are too,” he added with a fetching flutter of his lashes.

That coy look gave Trey’s dick all kinds of bad ideas. He cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know about that.”

Demi stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Please don’t be nervous about…you know…” He licked his lips, a provocative move that could have been staged. Trey’s cock didn’t care whether it was or not.

“My fathers told me about the talk they had with you, and it explained a lot about how I’ve been feeling lately. It’s hard to believe that the one thing I want more than anything is actually going to happen in a few days.” He put his palm against his flat stomach, drawing Trey’s gaze. “I have to confess I’m nervous, though.”

Trey chuckled briefly. “Me too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Demi’s eyes got misty. “That’s so sweet but you shouldn’t. I trust you, Trey.”

The simple statement of confidence made him feel ten feet tall. He made an aborted movement to touch Demi’s face before remembering where he was and who was watching. “You leave all the worrying to me. I won’t let you down. Now, go on. We’ve both got work to do.”

“Yes, sir.” A few more battings of his eyelashes and Demi practically skipped away.

“Dare I ask what’s going on?”

The sound of Karl’s voice so close startled him. “Nothing. Not yet, anyway,” he added as he turned to go back to the crime scene. “I may need your help in a few days.” The big event was being planned for the following Friday. He both wanted more time and less to pull his shit together.

Karl shrugged and swatted Trey’s arm. “Sure. You know I’m good for whatever. I’ve helped you fight aliens, haven’t I?” he said in a voice too low for anyone else to hear. “It can’t be any harder than that, can it?”

Trey rolled his eyes as much at himself as his partner’s question. “No comment.”

“Oh, now my curiosity is piqued. What’s up?”

“I really can’t get into it now.” He blew out a breath. “I promised Harry and Lucien I’d do this thing, and it’s making me a little crazy already.”

The details were sketchy in his mind. The idea was for him to have close family members with him when he accepted Demi from his fathers. And, there was no way he could ask his actual brother to do it. There would be too many awkward questions for which there would be no acceptable answers. At least Karl was in the know, even if he might not fully approve of what Trey was about to do.

“I’ll explain later. Let’s go do our best for Father Ted. If he’s the good guy that Damien believes he was—and, God, I really hope so—I want to find the fucker who did this and put them in a cage for the rest of their life.”

 

* * * *

 

Dafydd slipped into the kitchen with quiet steps. In the few months since he’d been living at the club, he’d learned how to maneuver around the building unheard and unobserved. He preferred his solitude, and even though he’d been assured that he was not a prisoner and free to come and go as he pleased, old habits died hard. He’d spent centuries as Dracul’s slave and now really only knew one way to live. Alex and the others treated him with the utmost respect, and still their presence caused an animalistic fear to rise in him. He was tired of being afraid and not yet ready to decide what he would do with his life. He’d only ever contemplated escape or death. Nothing beyond that.

He hadn’t run into anyone since leaving his room. The fact that he had a private space like that—beautiful, quiet and in which no one entered without knocking and invitation—was a blessing. He appreciated that fact. And it had been easy to go on these morning forages unremarked while the club had been closed for business. With the opening the previous night, he’d worried that his privacy had come to an end. Even within the private areas, he’d assumed members would wander about, leer at him, make his skin crawl—but no.

Relief was a fleeting experience. He’d learned long ago that he must always be on guard. His first instinct was to sweep his gaze around the kitchen to make sure it was empty. The chef, Emil, was likely up in his room with his boy, Jase. The other cook he’d caught sight of, Damien, was nowhere to be seen. Dafydd had made it his business to know everyone who lived or worked in the club, so he knew that Damien wasn’t likely to return until later when the club’s business picked up again. He had plenty of time to dish up a few meals so that he could stay in his room for the rest of the day and night. Emil was a scary-looking fucker, as were they all, but he’d kindly given Dafydd permission to take anything at all from the kitchen.

A quick scan of the refrigerator had him pulling out part of a ham and a salad made of potatoes. Roasted vegetables rounded out his choices. He didn’t need hot food. Living with Dracul had made him grateful for anything that filled his belly. Tastiness was a bonus, as were sweets. He pulled out a platter of pastries that made his mouth water. Even before he’d been abducted by the monster, treats had been a rare thing in his poor life. He was a little embarrassed at how much he craved them.

He grabbed all he needed to start constructing thick sandwiches. Bits of ham made their way into his mouth as he did so. His appetite had never been so strong and he felt wonderful. Fully healed from his latest delivery, he was experiencing a kind of good health that he’d never known before. To be free of hunger and pain was almost miraculous. Every day, his body became more robust. All of that was without a diet that included alien blood. Harry had offered, warning Dafydd that he didn’t know what foregoing it after some many centuries would do. If there was any ill effect, he’d yet to experience it. He hoped that all it would do was set him on a course to live and age in a natural fashion. It hardly mattered. Near immortality had never done anything positive for him anyway.

“Oh, I beg your pardon.”

Startled by the voice, Dafydd went into survival mode, clutching at the knife he held and whirling around to face the danger. He knew even before he saw the man that there was no threat. It was only Lucien. But such were the lessons of his miserable life. He couldn’t turn off his instinct to brace for a fight.

It wasn’t only Harry’s husband, though. In the man’s arms sat a gurgling baby. Idris. The name had stuck, and Dafydd had tried to work up some resentment about that. He couldn’t. Despite everything that he’d experienced at Dracul’s hands, he still couldn’t hate the child that had been cut out of him. He couldn’t bear to look at him, either.

He loosened his grip on the knife and turned back to the table of food. “No apologies necessary. This is your kitchen more than mine.”

There was a gentile snort and soft steps approached. “This is Emil’s domain, make no mistake.”

“He’s given me leave to come and take what I will, like.” He didn’t enjoy how defensive he sounded, but at least he was free to speak in his own fashion. Since living with these new creatures, he’d rediscovered his Welsh identity. No one seemed to mind his accent or idioms. It was surprisingly liberating. He hadn’t fully appreciated how much of himself he’d lost during the endless years with Dracul.

“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” Lucien stopped on the other side of the table. Idris gave Dafydd a drooling grin.

The carefree and wholly human look caught him by surprise. He froze and stared at the baby for a few seconds, his heart beating rapidly. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with this creature of Dracul. His otherworldliness was on display, his size too big for the infant he was. Tufts of black hair stuck up all over his head and his eyes. God… That violet shade made Dafydd shiver. The knife slipped out of his hand, clattering on the table.

The baby made a squawking sound and screwed up his face as if getting ready to squall. Dafydd had to look away and put his hand against his chest. It was hard to breathe. He turned to leave.

Lucien stopped him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want our presence to chase you out. Please stay. I’ll only be a moment. Idris needs his breakfast and Emil said he left a bowl of porridge for him on the warming tray by the stove.”

Saying nothing, Dafydd returned to his task because he was hungry, and it was stupid being afraid of a baby. The child couldn’t hurt him, not physically anyway. Not yet. By the time he could, Dafydd would be long gone, although how and where was something he’d have to figure out eventually.

“Would you like to hold him while I fix his breakfast?”

Damn the man. The alien doctor’s husband was surprisingly tough-minded for all his gentle demeanor. He’d been trying to get Dafydd interested in the baby since they’d arrived here in America. Seeing the earnestness in the man, not any kind of cruel baiting, Dafydd had worked hard at keeping his temper in check.

“What for?” Now the bitterness came out without his even caring. “He’s none of my concern and yours for all that.”

“I’m sorry again. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“Aren’t you, then?” he shot back and immediately regretted his fit of temper. It never got him anywhere being stroppy, and again, he understood Lucien wasn’t trying to be mean.

Dafydd slammed the top piece of bread on his sandwich. “My apologies. I’m being ill-mannered given that I am your guest.”

“Not mine, Alex’s,” came the mild correction.

“And he dictates how you behave, no doubt, like Dracul did in his domain.”

Lucien’s mild expression turned flinty. “Not like that at all. I expect that’s hard for you to accept, yet it is the truth nevertheless.”

Dafydd shrugged and continued making his meal. “I expect it is, given that I’m standing here unfettered. Not sure it matters, like. I have nowhere to go and no way to take care of myself at the moment.” He flicked his gaze up. “If he thinks I’ll take the boy off his hands eventually, he’s fooling himself and so are you. I don’t want him.”

He nearly bit his tongue saying those words out loud in front of the baby, then chastised himself for his own silliness. Not even Dracul’s spawn could understand what was being said at such a young age. Soon, though, he would, and he’d grow strong enough to hurt his father with little effort. His fingers tightened their grip on the bread he held as he remembered how Dracul laughed delightedly the first time one of the twins had left marks on Dafydd’s body. No, I won’t think of that. It’s over.

“I understand your emotions are still running high, given your ordeal for hundreds of years. No one expects you to recover from that within weeks. We don’t want to pressure you to take Idris, either.”

The human smiled down at the baby and let him grab hold of his finger. “For my own selfish purposes, I’m delighted to care for him. My own son is essentially grown now.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “I’m not ready to let go of him, but in less than a week’s time, he will have passed into adulthood according to my husband’s culture. There’s nothing I can do to change that.”

Dafydd could see how sad the man was. He had gone through this process with the twins, although he’d been and still was happy to have them out of his sight. Being treated with contempt from afar at least left him without bruises and pain. He could see Lucien’s feelings on the matter were entirely different.

Maybe it is about of how they are raised.

No, he wasn’t going to go down that path. Paternity was at the root of it all, anyway. Dracul had been viciously evil, so his sons had that blood coursing through their veins. Alex and his loyal crew had always been different, apparently. He’d never known for sure because from what he’d seen, it had been some kind of internecine war. Perhaps they’d simply resented Dracul’s competition. Everything he’d experienced since fleeing Wales told him differently, but he didn’t trust anyone—not now, perhaps not ever. Regardless, Lucien had raised Harry’s son and now he was raising Dracul’s. If he thought the child would turn out as kind as Demi, Dafydd feared he was in for a rude awakening.

He hurried to fill his plate. “Well then, you’re welcome to him. Raise him if you want. Toss him in the river. I don’t care.”

Again, he wanted to take back his harsh words. Lucien stared at him with a look of more pity than rebuke. Shoving everything back in its place, Dafydd grabbed his meal and fled the kitchen. He craved the quiet solitude of the sanctuary he’d been given. He vowed in the future to pick his time for foraging more carefully. He still lacked the fortitude to deal with anyone. Or even his own life.

 

* * * *

 

“Hey, Sergeant Duncan!” Dr. Ric Paz hurried to catch the cop and his partner.

The two men stopped and turned, then waited for him. They both looked bleary-eyed, and given what he knew about the latest morgue delivery, he could bet he knew why. “Paz, what are you doing down here?” Duncan asked.

He shrugged as he stopped. “I’ve started a pathology residency. I like emergency medicine, but I want to see it from this end, too. I’m a bit of a lab rat, actually.”

Duncan scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard that about you.”

Of course, he had. Keeping the aliens’ secret had meant being given access to information about how they ticked. While he hadn’t had much time to do so, Harry had issued an open invitation to visit his awesome set-up in the basement of the club.

Speaking of which…

“I take it you two went to the grand reopening at Lux,” Ric said. He pitched his voice low so that no one who might enter the hallway would hear. “I had to decline because of my early shift starting this morning. I guess you cops are better at burning the candle at both ends.”

He tried not to envy them. It had been hard not to attend the opening. Not that he cared much for the club scene, but part of him had hoped he could at least ask about Dafydd. He had no illusions that the poor abused guy would be whooping it up. Recovery from his C-section notwithstanding, Dafydd had a long road ahead of him, given his years of horrific abuse. It wouldn’t be surprising if he never overcame it.

And Ric had no business thinking about the not-quite-human anyway. He didn’t have to take a psychiatric residency to know that his interest in Dafydd was inappropriate. The man had been his patient for one thing, and for another, he wasn’t even necessarily interested in forming any kind of relationship with a man. Being Dracul’s sex-slave didn’t mean Dafydd was gay. And if he were and managed to overcome the psychological trauma of constant rape and battering, the last man he’d be interested in would be someone who would remind him of that time.

“Actually,” Duncan’s partner chimed in, “we got called into a case unexpectedly.”

Duncan grimaced. “Yeah, Demi, Jase and Damien, Emil’s sous chef, discovered a body. The case should have gone to someone else, but I snagged it because we were first on scene.”

He nodded. “You mean Father Ted.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Did you work on his autopsy?”

Ric shook his head. “No, but I saw the name and double-checked that it was the same man as I remember from the ED a few weeks back.”

That caught the men’s attention. Duncan furrowed his brow. “You mean he was admitted to the emergency department recently?”

“Not him. No, he brought in a boy that I treated.” Even now, the memory of it infuriated him. “An older teen, badly beaten and raped. He didn’t want to be at the hospital, but the priest insisted. He practically sat on the kid until I was able to examine and treat him.”

“Who hurt him?”

Ric rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t say.”

“Of course not,” Anderson muttered.

“But, Father Ted told me on the side at one point that some new pimp was corralling the street boys and putting them to work for him.”

“Just the boys?”

“Apparently, although I don’t know why he’d stop there.”

Anderson scoffed. “Easy… They don’t get pregnant.”

“I guess.”

The whole topic made Ric’s stomach roil. The way that poor boy had been bloodied had nearly brought Ric to tears, and he’d drunk himself stupid that night when he’d gotten home. It wouldn’t have taken much in his life to have been different for his path to have turned in that direction. He was grateful for the chances he’d been given.

“Anyway,” Duncan continued, too hardened to the way of the world to bat an eye at what Ric had told him, “what did the priest tell you about this pimp?”

“Nothing really. I gather he’s been preying on quite a bit of what Father Ted thought of as his flock. The priest was trying to track him down, or so he said. I did warn him that it was a police matter. He assured me he wasn’t intending to confront him, just learn enough to take something to a cop he knew in vice.”

Anderson nudged Duncan with his elbow. “Hey, maybe he meant Craig.”

Duncan’s eyes flashed. “Really, Karl? There’s how many detectives in vice and you immediately think of him?”

Anderson held up his hands. “I was only suggesting…”

“Well don’t.” Duncan’s tone brooked no argument. Obviously there was a story there, although Ric didn’t have time to suss it out.

“Look… If I think of anything else that might help, I’ll let you know.”

“Got a name for the kid?”

“He said Mateo Smith. No insurance of course. Came in and was treated as indigent. Sorry.”

Duncan nodded. “It’s okay. Thanks for letting us know.”

“Sure.” When they turned to leave, his discipline cracked. “Hey, um, if you went to the club last night, did you see Dafydd by any chance?” He looked away. “Or, you know, heard anything about him and the baby?” The memory of that infant with the strange violet eyes still haunted his dreams.

“I didn’t see him. Sorry.” Duncan looked at Anderson, who also shook his head. “I’ve heard that both of them are doing well, though. They’re in good hands, if you’re worried about them.”

“Oh, no,” he was quick to reply. “I’m sure they are. I was only asking as a doctor. You know, following up on a patient’s recovery.” He flashed a quick grin and could tell by the looks on the other men’s faces that they weren’t buying that explanation.

“I’m sure it would be fine for you to go and see for yourself,” Duncan offered. “Didn’t Alex give you a membership card? And I know Harry is happy to have you visit.”

Ric backed up a step, already uncomfortable with how he’d steered a professional conversation into a personal one. “Right… Yes, of course, Alex did and Harry is. But, you know…work.

“I’ll see you around,” he added before turning on his heel and taking off. He was halfway down the hall before he remembered that he’d been heading in the opposite direction when he’d run into the cops. Still, he kept going, because apparently the mere thought of Dafydd and his baby boy was enough to turn Ric into a blithering idiot.