Page 44 of Dropping Like Flies

“What does he want?” Ben interrupted, his patience growing visibly thin.

“My best guess would be to bring someone or something back from the other side. And not temporarily.”

“Someone or something?” I questioned. “What could the something be?”

“I don’t know.” Frustration bled into Rafe’s voice. “Like I said, this is all theoretical. I hoped, though, that it might still prove useful. The more you know about the murderer’s motives, the easier it should be to catch him.”

When Ben didn’t speak, I nudged him. He offered me a glare. “Thanks. We appreciate it.”

“We do,” I agreed.

“I have sketches,” Rafe said. “Of what Gezgomar’s believed to look like from all the information collated about him. I’ve taken photographs of the sketches. Would you like me to send them to you?”

“Please.” I brought the conversation to an end at that point, Rafe staying true to his word and sending the photos in a message. Both Ben and I stared at the first photo, taking in the eight-foot demon with various spiked protuberances and jagged teeth and claws without speaking.

“Well…” Ben finally said. “We won’t have to worry about him blending in should Satanic Romeo succeed in making him appear. And he shouldn’t be too hard to find. We can just follow the screams.”

Chapter Sixteen

Griffin

I smiled when the knock on my door came at gone eight in the evening. Ben and I had visited a restaurant the previous night, my stressed-out lover managing a couple of hours without the case consuming him. Or at least he’d faked it. I assumed a few thoughts might have crept in unbeknownst to me.

At the end of the night, we’d treated each other with an old-fashioned courtesy, sharing a kiss goodnight and nothing more, and then going our separate ways. I hadn’t drunk, either at the restaurant or when I’d gotten home, the burning need for alcohol seeming to have disappeared now that Ben was back in my life. Ben would no doubt comment on it once he realized he wasn’t waking with the stale taste of second-hand whiskey in his mouth.

To continue our old-fashioned—and completely unnecessary courtship—we’d agreed to spend tonight apart, but it seemed Ben had other ideas. Hopefully, he’d brought pizza. I opened the door with a flourish. “Couldn’t stay away from me, could you?”

Flynn tipped his head to one side and appraised me with a slightly raised eyebrow. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but if you want to believe that, who am I to disabuse you of the notion?” He had a pizza box in his hands. Right food. Wrong man.

“I thought you were…”

“Someone else. Yeah, I got that.” He lifted the pizza box in a gesture that said I might not have noticed it. “I had the night off, so I thought I’d drop round and see if you wanted to share this with me? It’s pepperoni,” he added with a smirk that said he didn’t think I’d be able to resist it.

Flynn pushed past me, the excuse I’d been going to give about being tired dying on my lips. I followed him into the kitchen, my uninvited guest already helping himself to plates and fishing a sharp knife out of the cutlery drawer. “I should have known you’d be one of those men that don’t own a pizza slicer.”

“Why?” There was no keeping the slightly defensive tone out of my voice.

Flynn shrugged as he sliced the pizza and divided it up between the two plates. “I don’t know.” He peered up at me from beneath his fringe. “A simple man with simple tastes, maybe. You’re very straightforward.”

“And you’re not?”

He smiled like I’d said something funny. “I own a pizza slicer.”

“Maybe you should have brought it with you.”

“Maybe I should have done.” He shoved the plate at me before taking off toward my living room and making himself comfortable on the couch. I tamped down on a feeling of disquiet as I took a seat on the other end. It was just pizza. Ben couldn’t have an issue with me sharing a pizza, could he?

Flynn chewed and swallowed before fixing me with a curious stare. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you for a week. I rang you a couple of times, but you didn’t pick up.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I felt genuinely bad about it. Flynn and I might not have been friends for very long, but he deserved better than for me just to ignore him. “I meant to call you back, but…” With an adequate excuse not coming to mind, I settled for a shrug.

He dipped his chin toward my plate. “Eat your pizza before it gets cold.”

I did, contemplating Flynn’s question while I chewed. What was a tactful way of saying you were back with your ex, and as a result, I probably shouldn’t have let Flynn through the door?

“You got any beer?” Flynn asked.

“In the fridge.” I’d been going to tell him to help himself, but he already was, his pizza momentarily abandoned while he headed back into the kitchen.

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