Page 63 of Dropping Like Flies

Nerves made it hard to breathe. This was far worse than the first time I’d done it. Then, I’d known he’d say yes, and it had just been about getting to that point. Now, though, there was a tiny part of me that thought he might throw it back in my face and tell me this whole thing had been nothing but a well-orchestrated revenge.

Ben glanced up at me, his brow creasing. “Your face.”

“You haven’t said yes yet.”

“Huh!” He tipped his head to one side and grinned devilishly. “And there I was, thinking I’d twisted your arm to get you to ask me.” A few more seconds passed. “Yes,” he said, “for God’s sake, yes. We do it in a registry office, though. And soon. I need to be able to tell my family that the deed’s already been done. It’ll save me from the lecture of all lectures about trusting you again. They don’t understand the bond we share. They barely understand what it is you do. Then we can have a ceremony and invite everyone. One mainly for show. More of a party, really.”

Things were moving awfully fast, and to my surprise, I didn’t mind. Not when I wanted Ben as my husband. “When?”

“As soon as we can. Whenever we can get hold of a license. Do you have any problem with that?” There was a challenge in Ben’s eyes that dared me to say I did.

“No.”

Food forgotten, Ben held out his arms. “Then you better come here and kiss me. Consummate the engagement, so to speak.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.” I was already pressing him back against the pillows, though, heat building between us once more and the Chinese food no longer seeming important.

“I lost my ring.”

Ben sounding so genuinely sad about it, had me chuckling. “I think I accidentally ate it while you were fucking me.”

He turned his head my way with a big grin on his face, both of us still slightly out of breath from yet another round of spine-tingling sex. “Saves me throwing it in the river, I suppose.”

I rolled closer to him, holding his gaze. “I’m never going to give you a reason to be annoyed at me again. I promise you that.”

Ben trailed a finger along my cheek, his grin only growing wider. “While I appreciate you saying that, all relationships have their difficulties. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I will keep it. I—”

The harsh ringing of Ben’s phone cut into what I’d been going to say. Despite us both turning our heads that way, neither of us reached for it. “You’re not on call, are you?” I waited for the shake of his head. “Then leave it. You’ve worked your arse off for the past few weeks. You deserve a bit of downtime.”

The phone stopped, only to start up again less than thirty seconds later. Ben swore and swung his feet out of bed. “It’s probably just an I not dotted, or a T not crossed.”

I checked my watch as he brought the phone to his ear. “At two in the morning?”

He shrugged. “DCI Ben Weaver speaking. I’m not meant to be…” He didn’t get any further, the person on the other end presumably cutting him off. Ben’s face draining of color had me sitting up, a boulder settling in my stomach. He swallowed, the action appearing painful. “Give me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

My heart was racing by the time he hung up. “What’s going on?” When he turned to face me, all the relaxation from the night we’d spent together had disappeared to leave him looking haunted. “Ben? You’re scaring me. What’s happened? Is it your mum? Your dad?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like that. There’s been another murder. Same MO. Or at least that’s what they’re saying. And yes, before you ask, Dougie’s still in custody.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Ben

I glanced across at my boyfriend. Scratch that. Not my boyfriend. My fiancé. Again. I dropped my gaze to my hand on the steering wheel, but the noodle that had acted as a temporary ring was long gone, probably not eaten by Griffin in the throes of passion—given I’d never known him to stop for a snack before—but lost somewhere in the sheets. After the phone call, we’d taken the quickest shower known to man together, dressed, and then climbed in my car. We’d done all of those things in virtual silence, neither of us keen to converse. There’d been no question of Griffin not accompanying me, and for that I was grateful. I’d had a few blissful hours of the case not pressing down on me, but now it felt heavier than ever.

“It could be a copycat killing,” Griffin said.

“It could be.”

“That happens, right?” His gaze burned into the side of my face, as if willing me to say what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah.” My answer lacked conviction. “The press still don’t have the details, so we should be able to tell when we get there.” I slowed for a black Peugeot, the driver seeming to think that at this hour in the morning none of the usual rules of the road applied. If I didn’t have much bigger fish to fry, I would have taken great pleasure in pulling him over and reading him the riot act. As it was, I just had to pray he wasn’t enough of an idiot to put others in danger. I made a mental note of the license plate in case it came up in an incident report.

“Dougie confessed,” Griffin said, strain present in his voice. “And he knew stuff he couldn’t have known unless he was there. It has to be a copycat.”

I forced myself back into the cold and rational mindset of a detective who put logic before emotion. “There are several options.”

---