I STOOD in front of the mirror in Calvin’s bathroom, trying to fish my contact lens out from under my eyelid.
“Motherfucker,” I growled.
That’s what I got for crashing hard after I had been dropped off. I guess the poor sleep from the night before finally caught up with me. It was early evening when I woke up, and I was groggy, hungry, and searching for the mystical vanishing lens—
“Ah, finally!” I blinked a few times before putting my glasses on and checking myself in the mirror.
Hmm. Gray, grumpy, and gay. The Holy Trinity.
I stepped out of the tiny room and opened Calvin’s fridge only a few steps away. Beers, a package of untouched strawberries, and something covered in plastic wrap that I think had been there two weeks ago when I’d last spent the night. Calvin was a wonderful cook—when he was actually home to toss something together. I took out my cell, pulled up a delivery app, and picked the first restaurant I came across.
Beef tongue sandwich?
Oh, hell no.
I kept scrolling.
Shawarma. That wasn’t bad. I picked two, under the hopeful assumption Calvin was indeed coming home, and a few stuffed peppers before placing the order.
I gave Pop a ring next. “Hey-o, Daddy-o,” I said when he answered.
“Hey-o, kiddo.”
“I think I’m staying at Calvin’s tonight. I just wanted to let you know.”
“All right. How did the visit to the precinct go?”
“Fine. I successfully proved my innocence to Detective Winter, but it was touch-and-go for a while.”
“Very funny.”
“You never know. Maybe I tried to blow myself up.”
“Sebastian.”
“Have you seen my student loans?”
Pop cleared his throat.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t joke about that.”
“It’s my default.”
“Yes, I know. Is Calvin home with you?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, you call me if you need anything.”
I nodded to myself. “I will. And Pop? You be careful too. Not that you’re in danger!” I quickly amended. “Just… I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I said good-bye after, turned on the television, and flopped back onto the bed on the opposite wall of Calvin’s tiny studio. From the murmur of the voices, some reality Bigfoot show was playing. Super exciting stuff. I crossed my arms behind my head and glared at the ceiling.
P.T. Barnum.
Phineas Taylor Barnum. Died in 1891, if memory served me right. A famous showman and businessman, known not only for his hoaxes, but the curious, the bizarre, and even his role in the high culture of opera. He founded the Barnum & Bailey Circus, which was what most people likely knew his name from, but he also had a museum here in New York City—Barnum’s American Museum—until it was destroyed in a devastating fire in 1865.
My breath caught.
The fire.
It started with a fire.
I sat straight up. Barnum’s museum was a tragic loss. His actors survived, but countless animals perished, and the artifacts had all been lost, from the bizarre and worthless to significant and priceless. It was even rumored that was where the Feejee Mermaid vanished.
“Fuck me!” I grabbed my phone and opened the web browser.
The shit I retained. I swear to God….
I opened a page that detailed the events of July 13, quotes from newspapers of the times discussing the tragedy in their dated and extravagant language. Sure enough, after several minutes of reading and swiping through some photographs of Barnum’s advertisements, I confirmed that he actually had live whales on display in the basement of the museum. When the fire started, scared staffers broke their tanks, hoping to douse the flames.
It didn’t work.
And the poor whales were left to slowly die.
He lost the whales, but not the mermaid.
Was that what the morning’s note was in regards to? Barnum’s whales that perished in the fire? Did it imply the most famous hoax of Barnum’s career, the mermaid that was thought lost forever, was still hanging around somewhere?
Prove the murder, win a mermaid!
I looked away from the phone and got to my feet. “Meredith Brown was a prime suspect two years ago in the murder of her teenage daughter,” I said out loud. “But lost DNA evidence and a shaky alibi saved her.” I shrugged. “I bet she was murdered to bring closure to her daughter. How am I supposed to prove Meredith was guilty when Calvin couldn’t?”
Well… there was one difference between Calvin and I. He had laws and legal tape to work around. I was just a nosy prick. But how could I prove she committed murder two years after the fact?
Was my creepy new stalker going to give me the Feejee Mermaid as a reward if I managed to do just that?
The only glaring clue I had still been overlooking was Jefferson. So like the little detective I seemed to think I was, I started searching the Internet again. I really should have done so sooner, too, because the answer was surprisingly easy to find. Some of the many lost items in Barnum’s fire had been wax figures of famous and notorious individuals—Jefferson Davis in petticoats included. Apparently someone had thought to save it by tossing it out a window. When the wax figure landed on the street, the public—for whom the Civil War was a fresh wound not hardly healed—hung it from a nearby lamppost.
What Barnum had to do with any of these modern murders was beyond me.
I set my phone back down and took a breath. I wish the dead guy in my apartment hadn’t been lost to the flames. His identity was important, I knew it, but what if they never found any of his remains?
My pondering was soon left behind when the front door buzzer rang. I let the delivery guy into the building and unlocked the apartment door as he was coming up the stairs. I took the bag of food, tipped the kid, and shut and locked the door again. I walked over to the kitchenette and started rummaging through the takeout. I hadn’t gotten much further than debating whether to put Calvin’s portion in the fridge for his inevitably late arrival, when the door was unlocked and said redhead walked in.
“Hey,” I said, smiling when I turned to greet him. “You’re home earlier than I—”
Calvin threw the dead bolt on the door, took three powerful strides toward me, and pulled me into a fierce kiss before I could finish speaking. I bumped against the counter, take-out bag crinkling loudly as I was pushed back. Calvin’s hips pressed roughly against my own as he shoved his tongue in my mouth.
Jesus fuck!
I grabbed the front of his jacket and nearly tore the buttons loose while frantically trying to open it. I pushed it off his shoulders, listening to the heavy fabric fall to the floor with a quiet thump. Calvin broke the kiss, taking about half a second to remove his shoulder holster and shove the weapon onto the counter behind me. He grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me hard.
I swear I saw stars.
I pulled his hips forward once more, grinding against him. I had no idea what put him in this mood, because last I checked, murder wasn’t exactly a turn-on, but I was more than ready to match his enthusiasm. He wanted it hard and rough, and so did I. Right here in the kitchen, on the floor—his studio didn’t leave much to the imagination, but I wasn’t picky.
Calvin shoved my T-shirt up, broke the kiss, and leaned down to bite and suck my nipple. I yelped and bumped back against the counter again. He grabbed me tight and held me in place, continuing to bite and suck until I couldn’t take any more.
“C-Calvin!”
He straightened, his large frame engulfing me. “Beg me to fuck your ass,” he whispered. Calvin wrapped a big hand around my throat.
I managed to swallow before he tightened his grasp. “Please.”
“Please what?”
To hell with thinking I sounded lame. “Fuck me, make me come!”
Calvin grinned, his mouth hovering a kiss away from mine. “I’m going to shove you against the wall and pound your perfect ass until you can’t walk, baby.”
Holy hell.
And then we were kissing again while struggling to do away with each other’s clothes. I liked giving Calvin a fight for dominance, even if I was in fact looking to be the one dominated, because it ignited a fire in him that was so unbelievably hot. I needed the roughness of his hands on my body, craved the words he spoke, but I loved that Calvin never once stopped caring for my well-being.
I’d lost my shirt and my jeans were unbuttoned and hanging off my hips when I was backed up against the wall beside the counter. I grabbed Calvin’s tie, yanking him forward to kiss and grinning against his mouth when he growled in response.
He shoved my pants and boxer briefs down as we kissed, then reached behind to grab my ass firmly. “Gorgeous ass,” he murmured when we broke the kiss for breath. Calvin dropped to his knees next. “And gorgeous dick.” He took the head of my cock into his mouth, tightening his lips around me and sucking hard.
“Oh God,” I groaned, hitting the back of my head against the wall. It was both too much and not enough. I needed more—needed Calvin fucking me, claiming me, making me hoarse from screaming as he screwed me senseless. I didn’t want it to end yet.
Calvin’s a very intuitive sexual partner. He seems to know what I want before I do, and he can pull me back from jumping off the ledge into a mind-numbing orgasm too soon. He can draw it out, make it something to write home about every time.
He took his mouth off me and finished helping me step out of my clothes. Then he turned me around, pushed me against the wall, spread my cheeks, and licked me.
I shivered in response. It was a freezing-hot feel. I was burning up from the inside out. Unable to get a grip on the wall, I pounded my fist against it in vain. “Cal,” I groaned. “I can’t take it, please!”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, but there was a mischievous tone in his words.
“Stop teasing.”
He stood behind me and smoothed his hands over my ass again, leaning in close. “You’ll take it, and like it,” he whispered in my ear before smacking one cheek hard.
He did it again and again. My skin tingled and stung in the most erotic and delicious way imaginable. I was vaguely aware of the inarticulate words I moaned against the wall being heard by Calvin’s neighbors—but to hell with them. They could listen to me scream. I wasn’t going to be quiet. They’d probably be jealous.
Calvin moved away, and I turned my head to look back, watching him strip out of his suit and show me the muscular body that hid underneath. Fuck, he was so goddamn stunning. Pale skin, constellations of freckles upon freckles, and just enough light-colored hair in all the places that I liked it. Not even the multiple scars of bullet wounds detracted from his beauty.
He walked to the bed, opened the drawer of the nightstand, and rummaged about before coming back with the necessary tools. He uncapped the bottle of lube and squirted a generous amount onto his hand before setting it on the counter and getting close. Calvin pressed his body against my back while gently and thoroughly pushing his fingers into me.
“Like that?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Use your voice,” he ordered.
“Yes, I like it.”
“You want more?”
“Yes.”
Calvin nipped my ear, sucking the lobe as his fingers prodded deep and—holy shit!
I cried out and bucked back against his hand.
He laughed quietly and did it again.
“Oh God. Fuck—Cal, please! I-I need it!”
“You need it?” he asked, withdrawing his fingers. A brief pause was followed by the crinkle of a condom wrapper and more lube before one hand firmly took my hip. “You need any cock? Or my cock, baby?”
“Yours!” I said, ignoring the tone of desperation in my voice. I was too worked up to give a damn about being self-conscious now, and maybe Calvin had done that on purpose. “Fuck me—God, before I go insane! No one is as good. I only want you.”
I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck, a low laugh escaping as he pressed into me. “Sexy little minx.”
I tensed up as Calvin pushed the head of his cock in, and I had to consciously take a few deep breaths. He kissed my neck and shoulder, free hand reaching around to stroke me slowly. He murmured a few words of encouragement while sliding in farther.
“Doing okay?” he asked gently, always ready to break whatever rough play we were having to ensure I was feeling good. And every time, it warmed my heart.
“Okay,” I agreed, nodding before pressing my forehead against the wall. “You’re really big.”
He kissed my head again. “Take your time,” Calvin whispered.
I pressed back to meet him after a few more breaths, sliding and locking into place. It felt right and perfect, overwhelming and good. “Move.”
Calvin pulled back a bit, holding my hips firmly as he slowly thrust in and out. The burning scrape of pleasure sent a thrill from my toes to my head. I moaned in approval and reached down to stroke myself.
Calvin grabbed my hand and pulled it away. “No touching until I say so.”
“But I—”
“I’m in charge,” he ordered, voice deep and gruff, and fuck—yes, God, I’d do anything he said.
“Are you?” I asked, egging him on like he did me. “Then fuck me like you mean it.”
Calvin groaned, gripped my hips firm enough to leave marks, and slammed into me. He fucked me with ruthless abandon, balls slapping my ass as he moved hard and fast. I screamed and swore and loved every fucking second of it. Shoved up against the wall, boyfriend’s cock buried in my ass, I couldn’t comprehend anything but how goddamn perfect the moment was.
“You want me to come in your tight hole?” Calvin asked.
It was a question I was not meant to disagree with. Not that I wanted to answer to the contrary.
“Yes, yes! C-Calvin! Let me come too!”
“You hard?” He grunted, and I could barely hear him over the cussing, and moaning, and slapping of skin on skin.
“Yes!”
Calvin moved one hand from my hip, pulling me back against him so we could manage a kiss. “You’re mine. Hear that? You belong to me. Say it.”
“I-I’m yours,” I panted. “Calvin—!”
“Touch yourself. Come on your hand.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. I reached down, stroked my cock quickly, and cried out a hell of a lot louder than I intended when I finally was able to come. Calvin gripped me in his arms, shoving in hard a few more times against my tightening muscles before I felt his orgasm rip through his body.
“Holy shit,” I swore, wincing as Calvin pulled out. I turned so I could lean back against the wall for support.
Calvin raised my hand, licking my fingers clean.
I smiled weakly when he looked at me after finishing. “Welcome home.”
He laughed. “Yeah. One second.” Calvin went to the bathroom to toss out the condom.
Legs shaky and uncoordinated as my body still hummed with postsex bliss, I managed to get to the bed and collapse on my back. I tilted my head to watch Calvin walk across the room. He joined me, sliding up against me and putting his head on my chest.
“I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Hmm? What did you say that was bad?”
“That you belong to me.” Calvin lifted his head to stare at me. “You’re not an object. You don’t belong to anyone.”
“Oh. Hey, come on, sexy talk in the moment. I know what you mean. You belong to me too, in that ‘you’re-not-a-possession’ kind of way.”
Calvin sort of smiled, like he was unsure. “I want to be a good partner for you.”
“You are,” I said. “You’re—my knight, remember? What’s wrong?”
Calvin put his hand on my chest, rubbing gently. There was a struggle going on, one I could see in his eyes. “I’m not in any position to complain about your ex.”
“Neil?”
He looked down, tracing abstract shapes across my skin. “Considering the sort of unorthodox way we ended up together, it seems cruel of me.”
“What happened, Calvin?”
“Nothing—very little,” he corrected. “Except that he’s not over you.”
That was a surprise to me. Which maybe was cruel of me as well to think. But after meeting Calvin, it had become apparent to me that I had fallen out of love—at least what I had thought was love—with Neil a long time ago. We had been going through the motions, nothing more. What happened, happened. I couldn’t and wouldn’t change the decisions I’d made in December.
I put my hand on Calvin’s cheek, caressing his strong features with my thumb. “Did he say something to you?”
“No. He didn’t have to say anything.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe he was the forensic guy sent, of all possible people. It didn’t turn into some kind of pissing contest, did it? I know I’m all that and a bag of chips, but no need to mark territory.”
Calvin snorted. “Funny.”
“I’m a bag of expired chips. Stale and kind of funky.”
Calvin rolled his eyes. “I kept it in my pants.”
“Until you got home. Not complaining. That was fucking amazing.” I stroked Calvin’s cheek some more, touching my fingertip to individual freckles. “I only mean… I’m sorry I made your job uncomfortable. And I’m sorry that Neil hasn’t found closure, but I don’t regret choosing you. Not for a minute.”
Calvin finally smiled honestly.
“You don’t hide me from the world, and that matters. Neil liked having a boyfriend so long as there was no trouble and no drama. Maybe in love with the idea of a boyfriend—not the actual person.”
“Did you really feel that way?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “Afterward. Meeting you made me put my love life under a magnifying glass to figure out what the fuck was wrong with it.”
Calvin leaned close and kissed me gently. “I love you, Sebastian.”
I smiled. “Aw, shucks.”
He stared at me for a beat before sitting up. “What’s that smell?”
“The sex or the shawarma?”
“Shawarma?” Calvin repeated as he got off the bed. He stretched his arms as he walked to the kitchen counter to investigate the bags.
I dragged my ass off the bed as well, making for the bathroom. “I have to shower. I’m covered in lube.”
“Can I join you?”
“Sure. As long as you’re not planning to take advantage of me.”
I heard Calvin snort as he followed behind me. “Says the man who was just begging for my cock ten minutes ago.”
“I wasn’t begging.”
Calvin shut the door behind us. He got close, slid his arms under my own, and pressed up against my back. “I know you don’t like talking during sex. So thank you for that.”
I felt the tips of my ears burn and rubbed Calvin’s muscular arms briefly. “It’s not that I don’t like it,” I answered. “I just feel lame as hell.”
“You were hot,” Calvin murmured, kissing the back of my head before letting go. He moved around me and turned the shower on before getting in.
We bumped about, fought over the hot water, and rinsed off the mess of sex. I got dressed after and was watching Calvin put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t see many of those clothes, simply due to the fact the man was always working.
Calvin Winter’s ass in a pair of jeans was a gift from God.
“Is it my birthday?” I asked, glancing back at him while finally pulling out dinner from the bag.
“Hmm?”
“Nice butt.”
Calvin chuckled. “Thanks.”
“So,” I started, putting the food on two plates. “I’ve been thinking….”
“Hold on.” Calvin went to the fridge and pulled out two beers. He set one down and popped the top off another. He took a swig and then said, “Okay, continue.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
“I think whoever is behind the notes and the murders—it’s someone I know.”
Calvin’s expression grew stern, and he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Go on.”
“It’s the thing about the bricks in the Emporium. I told you about the cameras?”
“Yes.”
“If they had never been in the shop before, they couldn’t have sneaked around the cameras so expertly before blacking them out.”
Calvin took the plate I handed him. “You believe that?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know who it would be—the usual suspects in my life are good people. Plus, there has to be a connection to your cold case, let alone this weird P.T. Barnum stuff going on.”
“Seb—”
“What’s the story behind Meredith?” I continued, popping open my beer and looking up at Calvin while taking a sip.
He stared. “I’d rather not discuss it now.”
“Why?”
“We’re eating.”
“I can handle it.”
Calvin shook his head. “I don’t want to bring this kind of negativity home. Not to you.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’m sort of involved at this point.”
“You don’t know how to take a hint, do you?” Calvin asked, but he had a funny little smile on his face. Not entirely amused, but not wholly annoyed either.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have gotten you,” I tried, wiggling my eyebrows. “Come on, Detective. Humor me.”
Calvin leaned against the counter and took a big bite of his dinner.
I pulled up a nearby barstool and sat, waiting with as much patience as someone like me has, watching Calvin inhale his food, per usual.
“Meredith’s daughter was found dead in her bedroom by her boyfriend, who called 911. The girl’s bag had been packed and the boyfriend said she was planning to move out after too many fights with her mother. The girl’s skull had been broken in several places—medical examiner ruled the weapon was likely a hammer.”
“Let me guess. No hammer was found?”
Calvin nodded. “Meredith owned a complete and well-used toolkit, with the hammer missing. She claimed to not know where it had vanished.”
“What about her alibi?”
“She had been working. Her boss agreed.”
“Why was it not believed?”
“Because no one remembered seeing her the night of the murder,” Calvin said. “The bouncer said she never worked Tuesdays. The other dancers were shady, to say the least.”
“Afraid to speak up?”
“Likely.”
“Was there any surveillance pulled from the club?”
Calvin shook his head. “It was a shithole. No recording and backing up to drives or online storage. And the physical tape, the boss recorded over.”
“Convenient.”
“Yeah.”
“Did the investigation end there?”
Calvin nodded again. “No one would come forward, we couldn’t find the murder weapon, and the only DNA we found was mishandled by a rookie with CSU who forgot how to do their job.” He popped the last piece of food in his mouth and turned to set the plate in the sink. “Anyway,” he said around chewing. “The crime got a lot of press until the Harrison case.” He turned to me. “Do you remember that?”
“That was the nutcase who murdered his family in their penthouse apartment and tossed the bodies off the balcony. I guess people would stop caring about a poor, nobody girl after that.”
“New York,” Calvin muttered, shaking his head.
“Hey,” I said, prodding him in the side. “We’re not all crazy.”
“You’re a little crazy, sweetie. But I think it’s in the water.”
“Then you’re crazy too.”
“You’ve been drinking the water longer.”
“Let’s see,” I said, resting my plate on my lap so I could do some math on my fingers. “When did you move to New York—after college?”
Calvin nodded. “To apply to the police academy.”
“Twenty-one?”
“Yes.”
“I was… oh God, I was only twelve?” Calvin made a face, and I started laughing. “You cradle-robber.”
WHEN I woke up the next morning, I was alone. I groaned into my pillow and rolled over more, grabbing Calvin’s and pressing it against my face. It smelled like him, but it was cool to the touch. Cracking an eye open, I looked toward the window to see brightness behind the closed blinds.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up without an alarm. Even on my one day off a week, I always got up early. Between owning a business and having bills and an assistant to pay, I had family obligations, boyfriend duties, and shitty errands, like, you know, grocery shopping on occasion. I never slept late.
“Ten o’clock?” I asked myself in disbelief after putting on my glasses and checking my phone. I also had five text messages. God, had I slept through a tornado and aliens landing in Central Park too?
One from Max. Hey, boss, did your landlord call you?
One from Pop. Good morning, kiddo. Give me a call today. Love you.
One from Beth. Max visited and told me what happened! If you need anything, call me!
Two from Calvin. Don’t do anything today that involves me finding you at a murder scene.
And lastly: You drooled on me last night. Buy me a beer at O’Neil’s Pub and I won’t tell anyone.
Damn it! I’d been awake for thirty seconds and already I was being threatened and blackmailed.
I chose Max as the best person to respond to first and typed a message while climbing out of bed. No. Ehy?
I walked over to the kitchenette and started a pot of coffee. My phone dinged as the heavenly beverage was bubbling, breaking the quiet of Calvin’s tiny studio. I picked it up, bringing it close to read.
I bumped into him outside the Emporium. He’s kind of a jerk for real.
I snorted. To say the least. Luther was an okay landlord, so long as I never needed anything and paid my rent the first of the month, preferably first thing in the morning or I’d start getting reminder texts. That and his snide, I’m-not-judging-your-gayness-but-I-really-totally-am comments now and then. I typically ignored them. I wasn’t going to waste my breath arguing with someone like Luther. But maybe the next time he had some “but I never understand which one is the woman,” comment, I’d let him direct that at Calvin and see how well it goes over.
Ignore iit. I wll call hum.
I set the phone aside, poured cream into a mug, and filled it with fresh coffee. I wished Calvin had woken me before he left, but it was typical of him. Maybe it was because he had dated so little before meeting me that it was simply something he wasn’t used to—or perhaps he didn’t realize I wanted to say good-bye? But then again, I liked the way we worked. I know some don’t get it, but I don’t enjoy mushy declarations of love at every corner. Stretching them out into little intimate moments was much more pleasing, and Calvin functioned on the same wavelength.
Except… Valentine’s Day. I think I really did want to try having one super romantic date, with flowers and holding hands and kissing and all the corny stuff. And if I grew a pair and told Calvin to go out with me in a few days, I knew he would, but would he be as into it as me?
I wanted him to genuinely enjoy it, and I wasn’t so sure he would.
But I had more important things to mull over while drinking my first cup of the morning.
Like murder.
I hummed quietly. Calvin had given me a little to work with last night. There didn’t seem to be a reason to suspect the boyfriend who found Meredith’s daughter, and the unanimous yet unspoken agreement appeared to be that Meredith’s boss knew and was covering for her. The physical evidence that would likely be the case-breaker was the missing hammer. But it could be anywhere. A dumpster, the Hudson River—fucking Staten Island, for all I and anyone else knew.
But I wondered if it wasn’t that complex. It didn’t sound premeditated. A hammer was intimate, brutal, and like a crime of sudden and uncontrollable rage. What if Meredith panicked and hid the hammer? What if she didn’t know how to dispose of it?
And her boss—Ricky, I was assuming. Why would she go out of her way to tell him? Maybe they had been an item. Or maybe she knew he could help… what… hide the weapon? From what Calvin had told me last night, the mess-up with DNA evidence had hurt his case. Had he never gotten legal warrants to search Ricky’s club?
That would explain why the case went cold.
I took a big gulp of the remaining coffee. “But I’m not a cop.”
And I don’t need a warrant.