Page 93 of Power of the Mind

The detective picked him up. “This is Oscar. The spoiled furchild of the moment.” He kissed and cooed the feline until it insisted on getting down and darted to the kitchen.

Several months ago, Quaid told me they were working on growing their family. To break the ice, since I didn’t know Aslan as well as I did his partner, I asked, “Any news in the baby department?”

Aslan’s face lit up as he guided me to where the cat had disappeared, and the scent of coffee originated. “We’ve matched with a surrogate, so we’re one step closer.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. It’s a long process, but we’re getting there.”

Quaid Valor, a detective with MPU and one of my cousin’s closest friends, was arranging coffee mugs on the counter when we walked in. He glanced over his shoulder and offered me a stiff smile. “Morning, Tallus.”

“Good morning.”

Aslan kicked my foot. “Quick, tell him you didn’t come to steal me away.”

“Az,” Quaid snapped, stabbing him with a look of venom.

“What? You said—”

“Az!”

Whatever this nonsense, I had a feeling I could settle it quickly and effortlessly. “Hey, Doyle. I’m curious. How old are you?”

Aslan frowned. “Forty-four. Why?”

I performed quick math and dramatically cringed. “You realize you’re technically old enough to be my father, and that’s super ewwy.” I turned to Quaid. “I assure you. Despite my severe daddy issues, I have definitelynotcome to steal or flirt with your husband. I like my men slightly older, but I have limits.”

“Ouch.” Aslan clutched his chest. “Christ. Go for the kill shot why don’t you. I thought you wanted my help.”

But Quaid’s scowl shifted into a grin. “Well played, Tallus.”

“Thank you.” I smiled back.

Quaid handed his husband a coffee. “You may help him now.”

Aslan, clearly scorned, mumbled, “Maybe I don’t want to.”

“How do you take your coffee, Tallus?” Quaid asked.

“Heavy cream. Lots of sugar.”

When Quaid winced, Aslan chuckled. “Annnnd you just lost all those points you gained. Should have stopped while you were ahead. Expect a pamphlet in the mail next week.”

I had no clue what he was talking about, but once Quaid had dressed my coffee, Aslan guided me to the kitchen table. “So what’s going on?”

My morning had been spent trying to decide how to explain my needs without sounding like a nutcase. I hoped those long hours paid off.

Without mentioning mind-control-killing psychics and sideshow hypnotists, I filled Aslan in as best I could, telling him how Diem and I had stumbled across a string of suspicious deaths that may or may not be related. I downplayed my concerns, making it seem like I was nothing more than a bored records clerk playing investigator in my spare time. The less he knew at this point, the better.

If Diem and I couldn’t find a connection with autopsies, we were left with supernatural bullshit no one was going to believe, and I wasn’t in the mood to be laughed at by two prominent department detectives.

“I don’t know what we’re looking for exactly, but if we find similarities in their autopsy reports, something the pathologist might have overlooked, then it’s possible it could prove there is a serial killer out there.”

Brows raised, Aslan shared a look with his husband. I heard how ridiculous it sounded.

“You think highly trained pathologists missed something?” Quaid asked from the other side of the kitchen, where he was fighting with Oscar to try and brush the poor cat’s teeth.

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of. It could be something they wouldn’t flag as important when found in a single case, but if it showed in all the cases, it could be significant.”

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