Page 47 of Dropping Like Flies

“It’ll be fine,” Olivia said. “If anyone asks, I come here to dance without having to put up with being groped.” She tugged her skirt down again.

Harry nodded his assent. “And I guess I’m just so far in the closet I’m a frequent visitor to Narnia.”

“Stay together,” I cautioned them. “That way, you can share intel and watch each other’s backs.”

They both nodded.

“Do we have to queue?” Griffin asked as we started walking toward the club, the tone of his voice leaving no doubt that while there were many things he was prepared to put up with during this case, that wasn’t one of them.

We reached the back of the queue, my answer coming from the fact that I kept walking, the mumblings of discontent starting up immediately, and one or two disgruntled customers going a step further to shout something rude that we all ignored.

The bouncer at the front of the queue watched us approach with narrowed eyes and crossed arms. He looked like he was spoiling for a fight. And if there was one, I doubted we’d win, even with there being four of us. Not unless Olivia’s sweet-looking exterior was nothing but a front for her ability to rip a man’s testicles off with her teeth. Once we reached the bouncer, I announced “Jeremy Patterson,” hoping to God that whoever had organized this had done their job and done it well. If they had, he’d recognize the name and wave us in without asking questions. If they hadn’t, it would mean a demand to see the owner of the club and creating a scene that really wasn’t conducive to successful undercover work.

His gaze traveled over for me for a few seconds, and I sensed the desire for him to make some sort of quip about me not looking like a cop. Thankfully, he held it in. Once he’d finished scrutinizing me, he did the same to Griffin, and then Harry, missing Olivia out altogether in a display of… Well, take your pick. Misogyny? Heterophobia? Or a combination of the two?

Finally, he jerked his head toward the entrance, the action earning a curse of “for fuck’s sake” from one of two men at the front of the queue, both of them showing enough bare flesh that nobody would argue too vociferously if I arrested them for public indecency.

Griffin smirked as I caught him looking. “What? You think they’re dressed like that because they want people to ignore them.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to look.” I pushed through the double doors into the main body of the club, the music hitting like a tidal wave, the throbbing bass something you could feel as well as hear. While Harry and Olivia peeled away like we’d already agreed to stake out the upper floor of the club, Griffin and I took the ground floor. We all had phones we’d agreed to check constantly, the action one that wouldn’t look out of place in a club. We’d considered earpieces, but they’d be far more conspicuous, and given how loud the club was, I wasn’t sure we’d have been able to hear each other, anyway, proving it to be the right decision. As well as loud, Eclipse was busy, the possibility of finding something useful seeming more and more like a pipe dream. Satanic Romeo could be right under my nose and I’d never know it.

“Drink,” Griffin announced, tugging me along with him as he fought his way to the bar. I spent the time while he waited to be served, observing the crowd. As my investigation had nothing to do with the fashion sense and hairstyles of the young gay men of London, I came up blank. To my surprise, Griffin ordered two orange juices, passing one across with a smirk. “What?”

“You know what?”

“You thought I was going to use this as an excuse to get pissed?”

“If the cap fits.” I moved closer, surreptitiously patting him down and searching for the telltale bulge of the hip flask in one of his pockets, expecting that its contents would soon find their way into his drink. To the untrained eye, it would simply have looked like I was copping a feel.

Griffin withstood it, maybe even leaned into it. “Now, who’s using something as an excuse?”

I came up empty, the only bulges Griffin’s phone and wallet. Well, and the one between his legs that had circumstances been different, I would have happily checked out. “You didn’t bring it.”

“I haven’t touched a drop all week.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Because talking about it had eased some of the guilt around his sister’s death. Because he was no longer fighting the urge to be with me. He’d been wallowing in so much denial and self-recrimination for the past three years that alcohol had been his only escape. “I’m glad,” I said, my voice husky with a sudden rush of emotion.

Work, I reminded myself as the urge to kiss him became almost overwhelming. I wasn’t here to lose myself in Griffin. I was here to catch a killer. Once Satanic Romeo was behind bars, we’d have all the time together we needed. I’d get Baros to give me some time off and Griffin and I could spend a week in bed getting to know each other again properly. We could talk about the future and what it held for us. Would marriage be back on the cards? Did I want it to be? There were a lot of unanswered questions, but they’d all have to wait.

For the next hour, we circulated, both Griffin and I forced to fend off unwanted advances and multiple offers of threesomes, Griffin seeming to find it far more amusing than I did. I’d lost him for three years. Therefore, I had zero intentions of sharing him.

Frustration set in around the forty-five minute mark, the hopelessness of the task at hand really hitting home. Much as I hated to admit it, the DCS had been right to hold off on okaying this operation, recognizing a futility I hadn’t been prepared to face. Because when it came down to it, what were we looking for? Guys being picked up? We were surrounded by them, at least half of the dance floor taken up by men either putting on a show to attract attention, or men who’d already caught their prey and were rubbing up against them as a prelude to either taking them to the bathroom, or home, depending on how much they liked them and/or how fussy they were about the location of their sexual acts. It wasn’t like we could stand at the exit and question them about their intentions. Harry and Olivia had sent several reports via text and didn’t seem to be having any more luck than we were, their last few texts almost a carbon copy of each other.

Griffin let out a sigh next to me. “This is hopeless!”

Despite his statement only reflecting my own thoughts, it caused a swell of anger. I didn’t need someone pointing out what a waste of time it was. I needed someone who would tell me it was going to be okay. Like he’d done the other day. He might have been lying through his teeth, but it had done its job, and Griffin knew me well enough to know that.

I turned, intending to tell him exactly that, but before I could, a man appeared out of the crowd and launched himself at Griffin, dragging him into an enthusiastic hug and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Look at you out having fun,” he announced with a glint in his eye, which, if the hug and kiss hadn’t already been a giveaway, would have told me he knew Griffin well.

To give Griffin his due, he detached himself from the embrace quickly, turning his ‘friend’ in my direction and bellowing over the music. “This is Ben. You know, the one I told you about. Ben, this is Flynn.”

Flynn. Was I supposed to recognize the name? In a rush of intuition, which probably meant I could keep my detective badge, I worked it out. This was the guy Griffin had been seeing. Or not seeing, if he’d been telling the truth about them not really being a thing. I studied him as he held his hand out, not liking what I saw. Too young. Younger than Griffin or me by a good few years. Trim body shown off to its best advantage by skintight jeans and a white sleeveless top that deliberately stopped short of his waistband to show off a few inches of tanned, toned abdomen. Brown hair just long enough to have a slight wave to it. Green eyes full of genuine warmth that made it hard not to like him.

After a pause, I took his hand, Flynn giving it a vigorous shake. He leaned forward so I could hear him, my nostrils filling with the slight tang of sweat and a spicy cologne. “It’s great to meet you, Ben. I’m so glad you and Griffin worked out your differences and got back together. He’s been so lost.”

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