Page 81 of The Butterfly Killer

Burns elbowed Mercer hard enough to be felt, but not hard enough that he drew attention to them. If they weren’t here, Burns might have even punched Mercer he was so peeved. “It’s not funny!”

This night started to feel like an excuse for Mercer to tease Burns and nothing else. They were wasting their time if that was all Mercer had planned.

Mercer put his finger to his lips. He didn’t touch them and that seemed to be more effective than if he did. For some reason, Burns was transfixed by the gesture. He followed the movement, his eyes first watching Mercer’s finger before they focused on Mercer’s tilted upward lips.

Burns whipped his head away. His cheeks burned and he clenched his hands as a strange uneasy feeling went through him.

He had a second of a chance to understand what he was feeling before Mercer steered him into the main room the charity event was taking place.

Others were already taking their seats. Burns was thankful Mercer knew where he was going or he at least pretended he knew where he was going.

It wasn’t a secret that Mercer came from this world, however, it was a different thing to just know it and to see it in person. The closest Burns had been to money was when his dad won a thousand dollars from a scratcher ticket.

That was not counting kissing Mercer half an hour ago. That was an entirely different kind of “close”.

The confidence Burns had somehow conjured when Molly had insulted him was gone. He didn’t know what had overcome him when he’d snapped at her. Maybe it was because he’d dealt with people like her all the time in his life.

In school, in the academy, and when he started desk duty in the FBI. He hadn’t been a total outcast, but people thought they could take advantage of him. They thought they could walk over him and that he didn’t have the spine to stand up for himself.

That hadn’t been the entire truth. Burns wasn’t the type to jump headfirst into a fight. He liked to keep to himself and a lot of people took that as a sign of weakness.

As he and Mercer sat beside each other, Burns took a look at his partner. It was a look that went deeper than Mercer’s looks or what Burns was used to seeing on surface level. Mercer could have been like the rest, power hungry vultures who believed Burns was too stupid to put up a fight. He hadn’t been though. He wasn’t. Though he treated Burns like he was stupid, it was for a different reason. Mercer treated everyone like this, but even that was still different than how he treated Burns.

Burns was the exception. He was the soft spot for Mercer.

“Stare at me like that and I might think you’re not acting.”

Burns jolted out of his thoughts. Mercer had inched closer to his face and Burns had to swallow a surprised yelp. Mercer smirked. Again, Burns was uneasy by the unfamiliar face on Mercer.

He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the man, but it was far too long either way.

He opted to say nothing as the lights in the room dimmed. While he’d been lost in his thoughts, the crowd from the other rooms had migrated here where the auction was to be held. He tried to be discreet as he looked around. His eyes passed over those who didn’t pertain to their investigation. He did linger on a couple of bodyguards mixed in with the public.

Cortez was paranoid and he had reason to be. He didn’t have just the Feds on his back. He had other drug lords and the Mexican government breathing down his neck. Everyone had their reasons for wanting the man dead and while Burns tried to sympathize with the criminals they were after, Burns really couldn’t even picture himself in Cortez’s shoes.

He’d leave this one to Mercer. He and Cortez seemed like they had more in common.

The large room, which looked like an old ballroom, now held a large stage with a podium. Burns let himself turn in his seat only once to take a look at the room.

The mansion seemed much bigger on the inside than when he’d seen it from a distance outside. Though, to his credit, he hadn’t really been paying attention he was so nervous. He wasn’t feeling much better when they were so close to the man they needed answers from, but since he didn’t believe anything immediately bad was going to happen he was a little less tense than before.

Upward, balconies lined the room. In the lowered lighting, he couldn’t make out the people sitting in these balconies. Hehad a feeling Cortez’s men, perhaps business partners, were up there, keeping an eye on the event.

He didn’t stare for too long. He didn’t want to be noticed. He feigned the innocent “poor” man who’d married into money. The only hard part to play was the man candy hanging off Mercer’s arm. There wasn’t anything boy-toy about Burns.

Before the self-consciousness could dig its claws in deeper, he let his eyes trail over the men and women slowly trickling in. They were the typical faces he expected. High officials, local celebrities, business owners, and the mayor.

He couldn’t hold back his scoff.

These people were the ones boasting about bringing justice to corruption in their cities, but the first to snooze with the criminals themselves. The real reason this charity event was being held was to give them an excuse to party and to cleanse the dirty money, recycling it back into the desperate hands from which they’d taken it from.

He was most definitely making a face when he turned back in his seat. Mercer was looking at him, but he didn’t care.

He let his anger bleed into his persona as he placed his hand high on Mercer’s thigh. “I don’t wonder why you left this life.”

He could see from the corner of his eye that Mercer’s gaze had darkened. His left side of his face burned from the intensity in Mercer’s eyes. There was a good reason for it—the stare said Mercer wanted to devour Burns—and it simply meant Mercer was good getting into his character. While part of that character was his personality in general, it must take a lot to convince himself he found Burns attractive.

Burns didn’t have to suffer too long with Mercer’s attention as the presenter, a blond woman in her seemingly late forties, went on the stage.

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