Page 51 of The Keeper

The ceiling fan cooled his heated flesh and drew goose bumps to the surface, but Seth made no move to untangle himself until Rueben shivered. They cleaned up quickly, turned off the lights, and tucked themselves under the covers. Seth lay on his back with Rueben pressed against his side, using Seth’s shoulder as a pillow.

“Tour guide and real estate agent are off the tables if you decide to look for a different career,” Rueben teased in the dark. “The only thing I’ve gotten to see in your house is the bedroom ceiling.”

For a moment, Seth thought that was a commentary on his chances of reelection until he computed the totality of the statement. There’d be a lot of similar comments made in the coming days, weeks, and probably months, and they wouldn’t include “if you decide” in the phrasing. Seth needed to develop thicker skin and fast…but not with Rueben. He was done with any kind of barrier between them. “You think I’m just going to whisk every site-seeker or client into the nearest bedroom?”

Rueben laughed and placed a kiss on his chest. “I guess that was a silly thing to say. I think my brain is still addled from that incident with the guy at the cabin.”

“Why? Did he hit you with the skillet first?”

Reuben snorted, then laughed and kept on laughing until his voice went hoarse and the tears came. Seth cradled him safely against his body, whispering words of encouragement and love as Rueben cycled through his emotions.

“I think I know who that guy was,” Rueben finally said.

Seth stiffened. “Who? And how?”

Rueben told him about the incidents where Keegan thought he’d seen Brother Cain in town. And that would likely mean Brother Abel was Odell. “I should’ve said something sooner, but Keegan didn’t want me to make a fuss. He said he’d had similar reactions to guys with the same builds or hair color. I tried to follow the man after the town hall meeting, but he got away before I could snap a picture.” Rueben sighed. “I went and disfigured his face, making identification harder unless his prints or DNA are in the system. I’m really sorry.”

Seth tightened his arms around Rueben. “It’s not Keegan’s fault or yours. We’ll sort this out and move on. There’s so much living I want to do with you.” And loving.

That sweet sentiment followed him into sleep but couldn’t protect him from a montage of vivid dreams where his personal demons devoured everyone Seth loved and left him to face the aftermath alone. He finally gave up trying to sleep around five thirty. He scanned the internet for updates about Quinton Carson’s whereabouts as other civilians would do and forced himself to read the things written about him as his constituents would. So far, the opinions ranged from ineptitude to criminal negligence regarding Mick’s questionable death and Quinton’s escape, but Rueben’s name had thus far stayed out of the press. The reprieve wouldn’t last long, but they’d enjoy it while they could.

Seth had consumed nearly half a pot of coffee by the time Rueben staggered out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but Seth’s shirt. His morning wood jutted out in front of him like a North Star to guide him. Sleepy brown eyes scanned the room until they found Seth on the love seat in the great room at the back of the house. Rueben smiled, rubbed his eyes, then circled slowly to take in his surroundings. When their eyes met again, Rueben looked both impressed and possibly a little intimidated. Seth’s house wasn’t as big or as fancy as Cash’s, but it used the same combination of wood, iron, and stone to elevate his mountainside home from meh to hell yeah. Walls of windows on the rear of the house showed off million-dollar views, but the one in front of Seth was a value beyond estimation and certainly irreplaceable.

Rueben scratched behind his ear and worked his bottom lip between his teeth. “Do you have a side hustle I don’t know about? I don’t think civil servants get paid enough to afford a house like this.”

Seth slowly unfolded from the leather sofa and strolled across the room on bare feet. He cupped Rueben’s face, and curious brown eyes searched his gaze. “My mom is a Hart of the Hart’s Creek fame.”

“Ah, those Harts,” Rueben teased, though it was clear he didn’t know the history of the area or the significance of the name.

“My great-great-great…” Seth’s voice trailed off as he tried to count how many greats he needed to put in front of grandfather. His blood was moving south and his brain struggled to recall the family history lesson. Then he shook his head because it didn’t matter. “Edgar Hart was a founding father of this area and a pioneer in too many industries to name. He was an inventor and a gambler from Virginia, who won a piece of Colorado property in a poker game. He struck gold in the creek running through his land and used the money to fund his love of tinkering. Edgar invented several processes that revolutionized coal mining. People thought he was weird, but they also revered him because he had the Midas touch. His ancestors still benefit from his genius through a trust he established. I received this parcel of land and a down payment to build a homestead.”

Seth slid his hands inside the shirt Rueben borrowed from him and rested his hands on warm, taut cheeks. Interest sparked in those molten brown eyes. Would Rueben allow a slight detour from story time so he could sink his teeth into that delectable ass? Seth balanced the weight of those firm globes in his hand and watched the spark turn into flames of lust. He leaned forward and breathed Rueben’s scent deep into his nose. “I’ve wanted to see you in my home for so long, and now that I have you here, I need you to make your mark in every single room.” Their erections aligned, only separated by Seth’s lounge pants, but the connection wasn’t enough for him. “Starting here.”

His cell phone rang just as Rueben gripped his pajama bottoms. “Ignore it,” Rueben growled. He yanked the pants down to mid-thigh so they were flesh to flesh, and Seth drowned out the sound of the intrusion.

Seth’s grip on Rueben’s ass turned bruising as they thrust and moved together. Frotting on their feet was clumsy and frustrating, so Seth moved them to the couch as fast as the restrictive pants around his thighs permitted. He’d just sat his bare ass down on the cold leather sofa when his phone rang again.

Rueben frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the offensive phone on the coffee table. “It’s Agent Johansen,” he said.

“I better take it.” They wouldn’t call him unless the situation was dire, and Seth’s first thought went to Quinton Carson’s whereabouts. Maybe the marshals were wrong about hitting him with a bullet, and he was as much of a risk as he’d been twelve hours ago. Rueben handed Seth the phone, then curled onto the couch beside him, hissing a little when his ass kissed the leather surface. Despite everything, Seth couldn’t help but smile. He accepted the call and said, “Burke.”

“Does the name Reginald Ulrich ring a bell?” Johansen said in way of greeting.

The air whooshed from Seth’s lungs like someone sucker punched him. It took him a moment to gather himself before he could speak. “The last name Ulrich certainly does. Ryan Ulrich is the primary suspect in my cousin Natalie’s unsolved murder, but he’s been dead for a while now.” He searched his memories for information on Ryan’s family from Natalie’s case file. “Ryan had a little brother, but I can’t recall his name. He was about eight years old when Natalie died but didn’t factor into the case much. I was thirteen at the time, so I didn’t know him. Why?”

“We scoured the area looking for the vehicle Rueben’s assailant drove. We found it, along with Odell’s Nissan truck, parked at a vacant cabin two miles from yours. The property is abandoned, and nature has overpowered the gravel driveway, so we missed it last night. We sent drones up at daybreak and found it right away. There was a wallet inside the car with an ID for Reginald Ulrich. Blood was all over the passenger side of the car, confirming it’s likely the vehicle used in the ambush.” Johansen paused to take a breath, and Seth knew the guy had just gotten started. “When we got a warrant to search the cabin, we found Quinton Carson dead inside. He has two gunshot wounds—one in his abdomen, as the marshals reported, and a fatal one to the head.”

“Self-inflicted?” Seth asked.

“It appears so, but Reggie could’ve killed him and placed the gun in his hand. That’s one answer we hope to get from him, but we need your help first.”

“Me?” Seth asked.

“He’s awake and says he’ll only talk to you.”

He had to be Ryan’s brother. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Seth said.

“I agree, but he intends to give a full confession if he can speak to you first. Lyndhurst and I will be there along with federal prosecutor John Beckett.”

---