Page 50 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Don’t you have something better to do on a Friday night?” I asked as Tallus collected our empty containers and repacked them into the paper bag.

“Not really. I was invited to Gas, but there’s always tomorrow.”

“The boyfriend?”

“Who?”

“Did the boyfriend invite you?”

He huffed. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Guns. I prefer my men exchangeable. Variety is the key to happiness.”

I grunted, remembering the guy he’d been drunk schmoozing in the parking lot when I’d chased him down to help with the case.

Tallus, astute as always and somehow reading my mind, added, “Memphis isn’t my boyfriend. I was fucking with you last week.”

“Memphis?”

“The guy you saw me with. We’re just friends. Besides, this is way more fun than my typical Friday night adventures. Believe me. I can get drunk and dance any time I want. This is riveting.”

Tallus had a skewed perception of what surveillance entailed if he thought we were up for a night ofrivetingadventure. On a separate note, I filed away the information he shared about Memphis. Not a boyfriend. Just a friend. It didn’t mean they weren’t fuck buddies. Exchangeable? Variety? What did that mean? A night of drinking and dancing probably ended in a night of fucking. Why wouldn’t it? Christ, Tallus probably had guys lining up when he went out. Exchangeable? As in a new guy every night? Probably.

Not that I cared. I didn’t. Good for him. He probably didn’t have to weed through a stupid app and avoid daddy-seeking twinks when he wanted a fuck. All Tallus had to do was bat his gorgeous lashes at whoever he wanted, and they’d come running.

It was unlike me to get so invested in someone else’s sex life. Why the fuck did I care? The one and only opportunity I’d hadwith Tallus was one of my biggest regrets. I shouldn’t be pining for a second chance.

Since it was a drizzly Friday night, I grabbed my grandfather’s fedora and trench coat before we headed out. Tallus chuckled and muttered, “You’re one of a kind, D,” under his breath as we left.

We took the Jeep. The drive to Beth’s was quiet. It was the last day of May, and the sun wouldn’t set until Beth was due to arrive at her rendezvous. It meant we had to be extra careful not to draw attention to ourselves. Two men sitting in a Jeep watching a house could garner unwanted attention. All we needed was a nosy neighbor to decide they didn’t like the looks of us and call the cops.

I’d had it happen enough times to know I didn’t want a repeat. Most cops didn’t like PIs and vice versa.

The Rowells’ house was located on a quiet, tree-lined street. Cars were parked up and down both sides. It was a blessing in disguise. It meant the Jeep wouldn’t stand out, and hopefully, the tinted windows gave us enough cover no one would look closely enough to know two men were sitting inside.

I found an open spot three houses down and on the opposite side of the road, facing the Rowells’. A giant deciduous provided extra cover, its leafy canopy filtering the rain, so it wasn’t as heavy against the hood of the Jeep. With the weather, no one was out and about. Another point in our favor.

Two cars occupied the Rowells’ driveway. One belonged to Beth, the other to her husband, Sean. I’d done my research and knew Beth owned the red SUV. Sean sported a sleek BMW, flaunting his hard-earned money for the world to see.

“How many kids do they have?” Tallus asked, examining the two-story house in the distance.

“Two. Eight and four years old.”

“Did Faye and Noah have kids?”

“No.”

Tallus sat back with a sigh. “So we just wait?”

“Yep.”

“Do you do this a lot? Stakeouts?”

“It’s not a stakeout.”

He huffed. “Surveillance, whatever you want to call it. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Ever been caught?”

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