Page 12 of The Blame Game

He pulled a little notepad out of his pocket, waiting expectantly.

“Shea Barnett,” Sawyer said, his voice a little muffled. “No history of either.”

Dom frowned. Had he … had he said Shea?

Sawyer glanced furtively at him, guilt written all over his face, and Dom was hit with a sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t misheard.

It made perfect sense that a guy working as an escort used an assumed name to protect his privacy. As a client, Dom certainly would have done the same if he’d thought he could get away with it.

But somehow, the news still made Dom feel like he knew nothing at all about the man he’d been sleeping with for the past few years.

The man he paid to fuck was a total stranger.

Shea Barnett, Dom mouthed and shook his head.

What a surreal night this was turning out to be.

Shea leaned tiredly against the door of the rideshare, the glass cool against his temple.

His lungs still ached and his head hurt and he was so fucking exhausted.

He glanced over at Dom who sat silent and stone-faced on the other side of the SUV. The driver was silent too, soft instrumental music playing in the background the only sound other than Shea’s occasional raspy coughs.

He still didn’t understand why Dom was acting like this.

He’d looked so pissed when Shea told him he’d gone back to get his wallet and phone to protect him.

If Dom had been smart, he’d have left the fire immediately so there was no trace that he’d been at the scene, not waited around for Shea.

Shea would have covered for him. Would have made sure his name never got brought up in the investigation. The agency would have protected them both.

Why had Dom stayed? Why had he given his info to the firefighter who’d come around to ask for it while Shea was getting treated?

And why in the hell was he taking him back to his home now?

Sure, the paramedic had told Shea someone needed to keep an eye on him overnight, but Dom had ignored Shea’s protests that he had a roommate who would be happy to do that.

Instead, he’d ordered a car and hustled Shea into it, then proceeded to ignore him.

Obviously, Shea wasn’t going to argue in front of the driver, even if he did suspect he was probably from a car service contracted by the team instead of a regular Uber or Lyft driver. The guy would likely be discreet, but Shea wasn’t going to risk it even if Dom clearly was throwing all caution to the wind.

But why?

None of it made any sense.

The car pulled up silently to the curb and Shea stared dumbly at the luxury high-rise overlooking the waterfront.

He dragged himself out of the SUV, trying not to sway on his feet while he waited for Dom to thank the driver.

A moment later, Dom caught his arm, gently gripping his elbow. “Careful. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

It was the first words he’d said since they left the scene of the fire.

“What are we doing here, Dom?” Shea asked tiredly.

“Getting some sleep.”

Shea opened his mouth to protest, but Dom steered him toward the building and into the lobby. Shea was too exhausted to fight anymore.

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