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  “We did notice,” Capaldi said. “The whole valley noticed. But he and his girlfriends had been living there with the old lady for several months before she passed away. Zamarion claimed she was leaving the house to him, that it was in her will.”

  This was at odds with Ashe’s story, but Taylor was not entirely surprised. It had seemed unlikely a tribe of hippies could have moved into that house and lived there for two years without anyone noticing.

  “What about the will?” Taylor asked.

  “There is no will.” Capaldi smiled grimly at Taylor’s expression. “Exactly. Mrs. Dekker died intestate. It seems like there had been some rift with her son, which is why, I guess, it took him so long to come back. If his trust fund hadn’t run out, I don’t know that he would have come back at all. I don’t know that he’d have cared about the house or who lived there. But now he needs to sell the place, and Zamarion is standing in the way.”

  Hell. It was all starting to add up.

  Or was it?

  “But since there’s no will, wouldn’t the house automatically go to Ashe?”

  “Yes. Correct. Well, technically, the estate is in probate, but it’s all going to go to Dekker. The main asset is the house, from what I understand. If Zamarion still had possession of the property, it might be more complicated, but rightly or wrongly, he and his family were evicted.” Capaldi cleared his throat. “Anyway, the most he can do is sue for wrongful eviction and destruction of private property, but I can tell you that he’s not likely to find a sympathetic jury in Carpinteria.”

  “But you said Zamarion is standing in the way of Ashe selling the house.”

  “That’s right. Because when you sell a house, you have to declare if there are any liens or claims against it. Well, Zamarion is claiming that there was a will naming him as the sole beneficiary, that Dekker destroyed it, but that he, Zamarion, has a copy of one of the original drafts. He’s supposed to have hired some shyster lawyer to stop any attempt to sell the house. That’s the rumor anyway.”

  “I…see.”

  “I don’t know if it’s true. And of course, I’m no lawyer. But I sincerely doubt anyone or anything is going to court. Zamarion is just a nuisance.”

  “Just a nuisance? Then you don’t think he tried to run Dekker off Toro Canyon Road?”

  Capaldi sighed. “I don’t know if he did or not. Zamarion is an unsavory customer. But we can’t do a whole hell of a lot with a single pair of skid marks and no witnesses.”

  * * * * *

  It was after eleven in the evening when he finally made it home.

  The kitchen light was on, the house otherwise dark and silent. Well, not entirely silent. Riley came to greet him, tags jangling, tail wagging.

  “Hey, Riley.” Taylor knelt, murmuring to the dog.

  No sign of Will, though. Which was to say, there was every sign that Will was home but had already gone to bed.

  Well, not already, because it was late, but not that late. Usually they tried to stay up for each other. Usually they came in together.

  Taylor considered the rather heavy silence as he patted Riley.

  If Will was really that beat, he didn’t want to wake him, but it was disappointing. He had wanted to talk over the day with him, talk over the things he had learned, the things he was still trying to figure out, the things that worried him. A lot of things were worrying him.

  But Will had probably had a tiring day himself—made more tiring by the fact that Taylor hadn’t been there to shoulder his half of it.

  He was guiltily conscious that, as weird and frustrating as his day had been, he was sort of relieved he hadn’t had to sit through another round of meetings at Webster Fidelity.

  Was Will sleeping? Because the house had a listening quality to it.

  No. Will would not be lying there…what? Sulking because Taylor hadn’t made it to any of the day’s meetings? Because he hadn’t made it home for dinner?

  He moved quietly around the house, poured himself a glass of water, drank it, checked the fridge for something to eat, tried to decide between a bowl of granola and an English muffin, and gave up.

  He turned off the stove light, picked his way down the pitch-black hall—nearly falling over Riley, who thought this was a great start to a new game—and felt his way through the dark and deadly silent bedroom to the bathroom.

  Inside the bathroom, he relieved himself, washed his hands, brushed his teeth, turned on the shower, and stepped into the humid warmth.

  All at once he was very tired and feeling…let down.

  Not a good day.

  Sure, he’d had worse, but still. Not a good day.

  And if Will really was lying in that room pretending to sleep, nursing some unknown resentment like a goddamned adolescent, the day was about to get worse. For both of them.

  But no.

  Will was not a goddamned adolescent. He was the guy carrying the can while Taylor was busy doing whatever the hell he imagined he was doing. He was no longer sure of anything. Beyond the fact that Ashe was probably—probably?—emotionally unstable and lying about pretty much everything.

  He braced his hands on the white subway tile, hung his head, letting the hot water sluice over his head and shoulders, slowly inhaling, slowly exhaling.

  Distantly, he heard the pop of the shower door, felt a gust of cool air.

  The heft of an erection smacked against his buttocks, jarring him from his hazy thoughts. Taylor growled low in his throat—warning, not protest. He didn’t resist, didn’t fight when he was pushed flat against the slick, warm tiles, pushed so hard, his heels came off the floor.

  Hard, soapy flesh and wet, wiry hair ground against his ass.

  Will’s hand fastened on his shoulder, holding him in place, and his mouth traced the down bent line of his neck, kissing his flushed, wet skin. Taylor made another sound, softer, comforting. Will buried his face in Taylor’s wet hair, not speaking, seemingly just breathing him in, and Taylor lowered his head, shivering, when Will kissed the nape of his neck.

  He closed his eyes, conscious of the intimate smell of Will’s soap, the heat radiating between them, the tension of Will’s hard, muscular body pressing into him. Will’s left hand still gripped his shoulder as Will reached down to knuckle wide Taylor’s butt cheeks.

  Taylor swallowed, muscles tensing as something slick and stringy—shampoo?—drizzled down his crack. The flick of fingernail against his hole sparked red lights behind his eyelids, flared along his nerves.

  “Tay…” Will’s voice was tense and low, somehow working its way beneath Taylor’s skin, into every nerve, every cell, and Taylor’s breath hitched, sped up, waiting for the moment when Will’s cock pushed into him, and all the while Will’s hot mouth brushed the back of his neck, lingered, nuzzling the sensitive spot behind his ear.

  “Here,” he whispered, so softly, the word was almost lost beneath the rush of water. Anticipation sparked a thrill in the pit of his belly.

  Funny how he had never liked this until Will. Never let anyone do what he let Will do, never gave what he instinctively offered Will.

  Why was Will hesitating? What was he waiting for?

  Taylor’s hands flexed against the tiles, his cock filled and hardened. He pushed back, restless, longing. “Yeah, come on, Will. Let’s do it.” He bent his right leg, canted his hips, and the snub head of Will’s cock poked, poked, shoved in, filling him with that familiar pressure, that intimate burn.

  Taylor took in a lungful of moist, steamy air, dizzyingly conscious of Will’s powerful body covering his, Will’s hot breath against the back of his neck, his own harsh breath misting against the wall of the shower.

  That sensation of being penetrated, filled, united… Was sex ever just about sex?

  Will gasped, “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Come on.” Taylor moved again, impatient.

  Will drew back, pushed into him, each thrust scraping across Taylor’s nerves, sending them vibrating like a tuning fork. He groaned, wanting�
��what? More? Always more.

  Will’s hand slid across his soapy skin, wrapped around his cock, and Taylor bit his lip, pushing into that solicitous grip, let his head fall back, resting on Will’s shoulder. Will’s knuckles banged the tiles, found the rhythm. His hips pounded Taylor’s buttocks.

  Taylor shook down to his bones, the hard weight filling his ass, the frantic heat of Will’s hand, slightly off-kilter as he bounced off the wall. The showerhead rained down on him, and Taylor gasped, drowning in sensation as a tingling, explosive energy gathered at the base of his spine.

  Will’s grunts sounded desperate, wounded, against his ear. They wavered on the edge, teetering, and then Will let go of him for an instant, his hand closed around Taylor’s balls, teased, tugged, and Taylor felt a kind of ferocious detonation, like triggering a mechanism. They plummeted into the desperate freefall of release.

  Taylor was still shuddering, his asshole clenching and unclenching at the fierce pleasure of orgasm, smashed against the streaky tiles as Will shook against him, as they spiraled back to sanity together. It seemed to take great effort to lift lashes. He stared down at their bare feet, at suds and spunk swirling around their toes, spilling down the drain.

  Chapter Five

  Taylor was shouting from down the hall, “Brandt, do you have any idea where my goddamned briefcase is?”

  Will expelled a much put-upon breath, threw his head back, yelled, “It’s at the office. I’ve been using it.”

  Silence but for the ominous tick-tick-tick of rain over the sink window.

  Today’s drive to Encinitas was going to be a bitch.

  Taylor appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing jeans and a still unbuttoned white shirt that offered an enticing view of ridged abdominals, cut pectorals, and taut nipples. How was it he could want to strangle Taylor one minute and go dry-mouthed with desire the next?

  “Damn it. I was even there last night.”

  It took a second for the words to register. When they did, Will felt almost shaken with the mix of relief and guilt that washed through him. “You were at the office last night?”

  “Yeah. For a few hours. Do we have another briefcase somewhere?”

  “My old one’s at the office too. Sit down and have some breakfast, MacAllister.”

  Taylor considered, sighed, headed for the coffee machine.

  Will glanced at him, glanced away. He had already been feeling ashamed about the night before. He didn’t think he’d hurt Taylor—Taylor was as resilient as a jack-in-the-box when it came to sex—but Will had been rougher than he was comfortable with in the cold light of day. Especially knowing in his heart that a lot of his aggression had been fueled as much by frustration as lust.

  Taylor hadn’t seemed to mind a little roughness. But Taylor wouldn’t recognize he was out of his depth if the fucking ocean closed over his head. Will was disgusted with himself for giving in to feelings that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with control.

  Why the hell hadn’t it occurred to him that Taylor had gone to the office? It was the most obvious explanation. Why had he leaped to such a dramatic and dumbass conclusion? In fact, he hadn’t even reached a conclusion. It had all been speculation and suspicion over one too many glasses of bourbon.

  He studied Taylor’s downturned face. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  Taylor blew on his coffee. “Hm?” He glanced up. Winked. “Fine.”

  Will’s face warmed. His heart felt heavy. What a way to treat a guy you loved more than life. A guy you trusted with your life.

  Taylor must have misread his expression. He said, “Sorry about yesterday. How did the meetings at WF go?”

  “Like you’d expect.” Will shook his head. “Kohl, the head of security, is going to be a never-ending thorn in our side.”

  Taylor’s lip curled. “The guy who introduced himself by showing you his gun collection software app?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Taylor hid a smile in his coffee mug.

  Will said, “Do you feel like we suddenly grew up and had to get real jobs?”

  Taylor’s laugh was wry. “Yeah. I do.”

  Will sighed. “Are you going to be able to drive down to the Encinitas site with me?”

  Taylor’s smiled faded. He looked apologetic. “I’ve got a lead on Zamarion. I feel like I need to follow through on it. He’s a guy who moves around a lot.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Will. I’m trying to get this wrapped up as fast as I can.” Taylor was up from the table again, going to the counter to shake granola into a bowl.

  “I know. How’s the case coming?”

  Will watched curiously as Taylor got milk out of the fridge, poured it into the bowl, carried the bowl to the table, and sat down.

  Knowing him as he did, Will couldn’t help thinking Taylor was considering how much to tell him. It didn’t do a lot to soothe his unease.

  He waited as Taylor dug his spoon into the cereal, stirred the oat clusters around, and said finally, “You were right. Ashe wasn’t being completely honest with us.”

  Will resisted temptation, saying only, “How so?”

  “Well, to start with, Zamarion probably did have permission to live on the estate. There’s even a possibility Ashe’s mom intended leaving the property to him.”

  Now that was news. “You’re kidding.”

  Taylor gave a brief shake of his head. “No. Ashe and his mother were estranged. I haven’t been able to discover the details. Whatever her intentions may have been, there doesn’t seem to be a will, so Ashe legally inherits everything.”

  “That sounds pretty cut-and-dried.”

  “As far as it goes.”

  “Sounds far enough to me. So why isn’t that case closed? It’s going to end up in court, right?”

  “Maybe. I’m not even sure there’s enough doubt to warrant a lawsuit.”

  “Is there enough to warrant our continued involvement?”

  “I think there is. I think, putting aside missing wills and squatters’ rights and a whole lot of hearsay evidence, Ashe is genuinely terrified. Of who or what, I’m not quite clear on.”

  “Zamarion would be the obvious answer.”

  Taylor frowned. “Yeah, presumably. He sounds like a rough customer. But I talked to the lieutenant at the sheriff’s station in Carpinteria. He didn’t come right out and say it, but it was obvious he thinks Ashe lied about someone trying to force him off the road. And about chickening out of setting fire to his own garage for the insurance money.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” Will muttered. “And we’re still involved in this clusterfuck why again?”

  “Because none of that changes the fact that I promised to help him. He needs help.”

  “Christ almighty, Taylor. How the hell much do you think you owe this guy?”

  “I think I owe him keeping my word when I give it.”

  “Even if he’s lying to you?”

  “Yes. Even then.”

  This wasn’t really coming as a surprise to Will, but it was still exasperating. “Great. Okay. How long do you plan to spend trying to figure out what’s keeping your old pal up at night? Because I can handle Encinitas on my own, but after that we’ve got four more locations all over the state and eight days to complete those surveys. I can’t do it on my own.”

  “I know that.”

  “So?”

  Taylor said, “I’m asking for twenty-four hours. Forty-eight at the most. If I can’t get this wrapped up by Friday, then I’ll tell Ashe we’re out.”

  That was fair. And yet… Will regarded him for a long moment. He shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  Taylor hesitated.

  “You don’t like this any more than I do.” Will was sure of it now. “What’s going on?”

  Taylor said reluctantly, “Ashe pulled a gun on me yesterday.”

  “He did what?”

  Taylor winced. “
Cool it, Brandt. He was fooling around.”

  “Fooling around with a goddamned gun?” Will was sputtering with rage, and Riley scrambled out from under the table to see where the threat was.

  “He claimed the pistol wasn’t loaded.”

  That really didn’t make it any better, as Taylor, of all people, ought to know, and Will proceeded to share his thoughts on the matter.

  “Jesus Christ, Brandt. You think I don’t know all that?” Taylor snapped when Will finally had to stop for breath.

  “I don’t get it,” Will said. “What the hell hold does this asshole have over you?”

  That, as he should have known, didn’t go over well.

  “I already told you what hold this asshole has over me,” Taylor shot back. His face was white, his eyes greener than a pit viper. “And if you don’t believe me, you can go to hell. What hold do you think he has, Brandt? You think I’m starting up again with my college fuck buddy because I just don’t have enough assholes in my life?”

  Two things were immediately clear to Will. First, Taylor had a few residual resentments of his own. Secondly, Taylor was every bit as uneasy and worried about this situation as he was.

  “You’re right,” Will said at once. “That was out of line.”

  “It sure as hell was. When I think of the bullshit—” Taylor swallowed the rest of it so fast, he made a choking sound.

  But Will knew what he’d been about to say, and his face turned as red as Taylor’s was white. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t—I really didn’t mean what you thought I meant.”

  “Oh, the hell you didn’t.”

  “Taylor, I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Then let’s not.” Taylor rose, picking up his cereal bowl, and carried it to the sink. He turned the taps in a brief blast of water, and said without turning around, “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Will you keep me posted today? I don’t mean a couple of phone messages—”

  It seemed that once again he had said the wrong thing. Taylor swung away from the sink. “If you’re not happy with phone messages, take your damned cell off Do Not Disturb. Comprende?”