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Jet arrived home to find Wiri busy in the kitchen. He fiddled around with his flatmate’s coffee machine and had tipped two boxes of the expensive capsules onto the counter. Jet stood in the doorway and frowned as Wiri sifted through the flavours for one he fancied. “Oh.” Jet’s tone held irritation. “What’s mine is yours, then.” He didn’t frame it as a question, so Wiri didn’t offer him anything other than a nod.
Jet’s footsteps padded to the end of the hall. Wiri heard the laundry door open and something drop into the washing machine. The house vibrated as an outside door shut with a click. He appeared in the kitchen, his tanned brow creased and his jaw set hard. “Why did you leave the back door unlocked?” he demanded.
Wiri selected a strong Colombian blend and dropped it into the capsule holder, ignoring the question. He set the machine working and loaded milk into the frother. Seline’s easy access to the house bothered him. In his mind, it all led back to Jet. Wiri had unlocked the back door after arriving home from Vaughan’s and left it ajar as Seline had done the night before. He wanted to assess Jet’s reaction to the security breach.
“You didn’t even close it properly.” Jet’s voice rose, and Wiri smiled to himself. He’d found Logan’s psychology lessons intriguing. His uncle taught him early that the best way to get the truth from a reluctant opponent was to antagonise them until they made a mistake. ‘Anger breeds stupidity,’ Logan had said. He’d repeated that particular phrase often to Wiri because he’d been the angriest of all the children and always cracked first.
He turned aside to choose a mug from the cupboard. The action hid his grin as the fingers of his good hand closed around one with the word ‘Son’ scrawled across the front in a cursive blue font.
“Not that one!” Jet spoke through gritted teeth and Wiri stuck his chin in the air and set it on the counter. The coffee machine finished its cycle and produced a passable espresso. He lifted the jug and poured the black liquid into the mug. His injuries ached as he forced his muscles to maintain a relaxed stance. Waves of fury rolled off Jet and enveloped him from the other side of the room. “What’s your problem?” Jet ground out the words as though dragging them through broken glass. “Or are you just trying to get yourself evicted?”
Wiri snorted. He lifted the mug and sniffed the coffee. Wrinkling his nose, he tipped it and poured the contents into the waste disposal.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jet shouted. “They cost a dollar each!”
“Do they?” Wiri turned and planted his feet on the tiled floor. He’d kept his trainers on to provide another source of rule breaking annoyance. Concentrating on the angry patches of colour creating bursts of pink on Jet’s neck, he picked the right moment to launch himself at him. Anger made the other man blind. Wiri had him around the throat and up against the pantry cupboard before he realised what was happening.
Army and police trained, Jet made a formidable opponent. He aimed his knee at Wiri’s groin but overbalanced as he dodged sideways out of range. Wiri ground the heel of his trainer into the toes of Jet’s right foot just as the other man attempted to peel back the index finger on his good hand. They were evenly matched, but Wiri had the element of surprise and capitalised on it. Jet hadn’t expected to find himself under attack in his own home.
Wiri curled the reluctant fingers of his left hand and dug his knuckles into Jet’s solar plexus with force. The police officer bent double at the waist with a gasp. “Stop!” he begged. “Just stop!”
Wiri backed away from him, taking up his original position on the other side of the kitchen. Jet collapsed onto his hands and knees and gulped air as he waited to catch his breath. Wiri expected him to come out fighting and remained loose limbed and able to defend himself.
“What’s your problem?” Jet eased himself back against the pantry door and drew his knees into his chest. “Have the bloody coffee. I don’t care. Just ask me next time.”
Wiri snorted, but the sound contained more scorn than mirth. “You touched my stuff, so I’m doing what I want with yours.” His eyes narrowed to slits, and he glared at the man still rubbing a spot below his ribs. Satisfied that Jet would need a minute’s grace before he could clamber upright for another round, Wiri folded his arms. He winced as the action tugged at the muscles on either side of his spine.
“So, that’s why you searched my room last night?” Wincing, Jet looked up at him through his lashes.
“What do you think I am?” Wiri sneered at him. “I don’t go through people’s gear. Unlike you.” And Seline. So, she’d searched Jet’s room during her visit but been less careful about it. She and Jet were as bad as each other. He took a calculated punt, levelling the accusation. Hendricks, Jet or Seline. One of them had looked through his meagre possessions and knocked the bracelet onto the floor beneath his bed.
“How did you know?” Jet didn’t even try to deny it.
Wiri humoured him. He tugged Phoenix’s bracelet from his back pocket and held it up where the gaudy beads caught the light from the overhead spots. “You knocked this onto the floor. Why did you search my bed?”
“Weapons.” Jet blew out a heavy breath. “I just needed to know if you had any.”
Wiri sniffed. “Why did you throw my shirt in the tank to incriminate me? Did you do it before or after you killed Hendricks?”
“Wait! What?” Jet’s eyes widened. “I didn’t do either of those things! I’m a cop!”
Wiri watched his expression change from horror to shock. His jaw dropped open, and he oozed injustice in the way he blinked up at him and dropped his palms to the floor. He grunted as he tried to push himself upright.
“But Hendricks had something on you, didn’t he? I heard him hint at it when he came to ask me to make a statement against Vaughan.”
Jet groaned and bent in half. He placed his palms over his knees and drew in a ragged breath. “It’s not my secret to tell,” he pleaded. “It’s someone else’s and you can do what you like to me, but it’ll make no difference. I won’t tell you.”
“Whose secret is it?” Wiri dropped his arms and Jet winced. “Tell me that and I’ll leave it.”
“Tane’s.” The revelation cost him and Jet seemed to visibly deflate. His head dropped lower, and he shook it from side to side.
“What do you think?” Wiri asked, his voice calm. “Do you believe him?”
Jet gaped in surprise as Larry stepped beneath the arch leading to the lounge. The darkness had concealed his black shirt and trousers. He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “Yeah. I think he’s telling the truth.” Larry stared at Jet and lifted his lips into a sad, flattened smile. “About that, but not about everything.”
