Page 66 of Skeletons in the Closet

“I don’t think you’re being fair.” A note of indignation hung in his tone.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Costa pursed his lips and seemed to consider before speaking. “I mean, I’ve tried to break the ice with you for months. Mend bridges, if you will. I’ve apologized endlessly. I’ve gone out of myway to show you I’m not who I once was, but you don’t seem to care. You ignore my invitations to grab coffee. You don’t respond to my texts. I don’t know what else to do or how to change your mind. It seems you only give me the time of day when you need something, and that’s not right.

“I’m all about helping my fellow compañero. Ask anyone. I know I was a dick for a lot of years. I own it, I recognize it, and I’m ashamed. But to be honest, you’re the one being a dick now. Either accept my apology or don’t, but I’m too old to play games, Tallus. Don’t come crawling to me every time your boyfriend needs a favor. I’ve got work to do.”

He shifted back to his computers and pulled out the keyboard tray. I wanted to correct him and say Diem wasn’t my boyfriend, but that was the furthest thing from the point of his speech. I stood uncomfortably in the doorway for a long time, unsure how to frame a proper retort. He was right. The two times I’d reached out were when I needed something.

But the bruise he’d left behind in childhood wasn’t fully healed, and I stubbornly couldn’t let it go.

Instead of figuring out what to say and fixing my error, I retreated to the elevator. I should have gone straight to homicide to begin with. Seeking Costa was a stupid mistake. I thought of Diem and how he bribed every person he needed help from, then chuckled. Somehow, I doubted that would fly with my cousin.

I didn’t often leave the records room and venture around the headquarters building. People came to me. When the elevator dropped me off in the bustling homicide department, I hesitated, feeling out of place. A nugget of petty irritability tweaked my gut when I considered how badly I’d wanted to become a detective and how quickly I’d been dismissed. I’d never even made it to the academy. Fucking medical. Fucking stupid rules. Not a single guidance counselor in high school hadtold me I couldn’t become a police officer if I was colorblind. They had let me find out the hard way.

Diem wondered why I clung to his cases like a parasite. I envied what he did for a living, but he’d made it clear he didn’t want a partner.

The bullpen buzzed with energy. The bright fluorescents overhead and the wide windows along the back wall gave it an open and airy atmosphere, much better than the claustrophobic space where I worked. Groups of detectives gathered around various desks, chatting or working on computers. Several more desks were empty. I considered heading to the nearest assembly and asking who was investigating Beth Rowell, but since I was a nobody records clerk, I risked being shunned.

When I spied Aslan Doyle across the room, my shoulders relaxed. He was with his partner, a guy named Fox—I couldn’t remember his first name—and his husband, Quaid Valor, who worked in MPU on the other side of the building.

I knew Quaid better than I knew the other two detectives, and only because he was good friends with my cousin—an oddity I was still trying to figure out. We’d chatted numerous times during the Secret Santa event, and he seemed like a decent guy.

His arms were crossed at the moment, and he was sneering at Doyle’s partner like he was trying to make his head explode with mind power alone. Fox didn’t seem affected and laughed, making Quaid sneer harder.

If Quaid was present, maybe I could sweet-talk my way into some information. I remembered Diem telling me Quaid was a stickler for the rules, but I caught a vibe he was also reasonable. I wouldn’t know unless I tried.

Before he escaped to his side of the building, I straightened my tie, squared my shoulders, and headed in their direction. It was about confidence. If I acted like I had a right to be there andhad a right to information, maybe they wouldn’t question me. Doubtful.

Fox saw me first, face still split with a grin from whatever they were talking about. He gave me a head tip. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”

Doyle swiveled his chair to face me, and Quaid’s scowl vanished as he turned and found me a few steps away.

“Tallus.” The MPU detective smiled, eyeing his husband surreptitiously.

“Quaid. Hi, how are you?”

Quaid shot a dirty look at Fox. “I was having a grand ol’ day until I decided to visit my husband. Didn’t know I was walking into an ambush.”

“Oh, stop,” Fox said, still grinning so widely his teeth showed. “Lover boy is pissed because I insulted his tuna salad.”

“You said a cat wouldn’t eat it.”

Fox dramatically waved a hand at Doyle. “He said he offered some to Oscar, who sniffed it and buried it with invisible dirt. Last I checked, Oscar is a cat. Hence, your tuna salad is disgusting.”

Quaid sneered from Fox to his husband. “You fed my tuna salad to Oscar?”

Doyle held up a finger. “No, no, no. That’s not how it went.” To his partner, he said, “Why do you always have to get me in trouble?”

“Hey. That’s what you told me.”

“I let Oscar sample it because it didn’t seem fair that I got to take a loaded tuna salad sandwich for lunch, and he got the same boring stuff he always gets.” Doyle paused. “And to be fair, hot stuff, Oscar wouldn’t touch it.”

“How many times have I told you not to feed the cat table food.”

“He didn’t eat it. That’s the point,” Fox said.

Quaid speared him with daggers. “Be quiet and let the grown-ups chat.”

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