“Everybody else is out?”
He made a face.
“You were the only one nice enough to come.”
“I was the only one who was curious,” he clarified. “The others didn’t wanna get the crazy on their clothes.”
“Nice,” I muttered, stepping aside so he could get by me. He had a backpack slung over his right shoulder and a silver briefcase in his left hand.
He smirked at me, came inside, dropped the pack, put the briefcase down gently, and proceeded to take off his jump boots.
“I have never seen you this dressed down, even when we go out drinking.”
“That’s because when we go out drinking, I’m trying to pick up women, and women always look at your shoes first.”
“They do not.”
He nodded. “It’s about the details. Men who sweat the small things will take care of them,” he apprised me.
I had six married brothers, and five of them were married to women. “Man, what you don’t know about women is a lot.”
His scoff was loud. “Who takes someone home every time, and who goes home alone?”
He had me there, but it was because he was pretty. If I was built like a swimmer, had big, deep sepia eyes, dark bronze skin, and a killer smile, I wouldn’t strike out either. I’d seen women turn and watch him walk down the street after they passed him. It was the swagger and the fluid movement and confidence so effortlessly displayed. It was lucky he was a good guy or I would have had to run him over with my car.
“Does it ever stop raining here?”
I shook my head. “Not as far as I can tell.”
He grunted. “Man, I could not live here. I don’t do all this gloom and darkness.”
I couldn’t argue. If you loved rain, which my mother did—the sound of it, the overcast days and wet, cold air—this was the life. If, like me, you found it a bit depressing, I could see where the weather could get old really fast.
“I appreciate you coming, but I feel like I might’ve used my one favor for something stupid instead of calling you to back me up if I get in real trouble.”
He took off his military field jacket and hung it on a hook by the door before walking over to the couch, shoving my blanket over, and taking a seat. His sweater had a high collar, and paired with the black jeans, he looked like he was ready to sit and hang out.
“So why not your regular suit?”
He shrugged. “I figured I might need to get up on the roof or go up in an old dusty attic or something, helping you set up the system. I didn’t wanna ruin anything.”
“Heaven forbid you get dirt on the Hugo Boss.”
“That’s right,” he agreed, snapping open the locks on the case and lifting the lid. “But I have to ask a question.” He glanced around and then returned his focus to me. “What the hell do you need this system for? I think your guy might be squatting here.”
I groaned. “He’s not squatting, and it’s not to protect the stuff in here. It’s so I can maybe go to sleep without worrying that someone is looking in the windows.”
He stopped unpacking the system to turn to me. “That happened?”
“Yeah. Yesterday. He’s got a stalker or… I dunno. But a while back someone took a shot at him in the woods, and I suspect there are more incidents I haven’t heard about yet.”
“And you have no idea who it is?”
I explained about the guys cooking meth and how I was sure it was them, and then had amended my conclusion.
“You probably have to ask him when, exactly, he can recall the first incidents happening and work your way back from there.”
“Yeah, that’s on this morning’s agenda,” I assured him. “You know, you can go if you need to. I can set this stuff up myself.”
“Nope,” he replied, and the look I got, the flutter of eyebrows with the annoyed exhale, I knew well.
I snickered. “Owen made you promise to call so he could set it up with you.”
“He’s extra particular about some of this shit,” he growled.
“He just likes things to be done a certain way, which is what makes him so good. He’s thorough and detail-oriented.”
“And what’s with him and Jared? Is he his ward or something? What’s their deal?”
“You didn’t ask Nash? He’s the only one who knows.”
Quick shake of his head. “He won’t tell me shit.”
“I find it best not to delve.”
“That’s probably good advice,” he said with a sigh. “Okay, so lemme get on Skype with Owen so I can get this taken care of.”
“I can do it,” I told him. “It was nice of you to bring it to me, though.”
“No, you watch your boy. I’ll do this.”
“Good morning.”
We both turned, and there was Benji, standing in the hall doorway wearing sweats, slippers, and a heavy cardigan.