Page 12 of Deep Waters

Death.

He’d learned from his time in the lifeboat how sex and death went hand in hand. He had taken part in three failed rescues when he had been a member of the crew, and afterwards, he had always wanted sex. It wasn’t unusual. He’d even read an article about it—how sex helped people to feel alive after a clash with mortality.

Is that what this is? Do I only fancy him because we didn’t save Niko?

As he carried the drinks back to the fire, Harry realised just how much he did want Christian. They had been through a gruelling experience. What better comfort could there be than each other’s bodies? He didn’t want to go back to his flat on his own and wondered whether Christian felt the same about his lonely hotel room.

Fuck it. One more drink and I’ll ask him. The worst he can say is no.

Christian lifted his gaze from the flames when he returned. Their eyes connected and, just for a second, a hint of a smile. “Thanks,” he said, accepting the drink.

“Is this your favourite tipple? Whisky?” he asked, sitting down.

“Sometimes. It depends on my mood. But at the end of the night, when I want to unwind, it’s the best. I always bring a bottle with me when I’m working away—for a nightcap.”

Their eyes locked again, and Harry wondered if there had been a hint of an invitation in the last remark.Or is it just wishful thinking?

He had never been good at reading signals.

“What’s your hotel like?” he asked in a rush. “I’ve had a drink at the bar in Quay House, but I’ve never been upstairs.”

Christian’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Oh shit. I’ve judged this all wrong.

Then he smiled. “It’s nice. I’ve got a good-sized room that overlooks the harbour. Actually, it’s pretty great.” He sipped. “You’re welcome to come up, if you’d like to look around. I could also give you that nightcap.”

Harry’s pulse quickened, and a stiffness developed in his groin. “I’d love to.”

This morning he’d been so dismissive about Christian because of his age, and now there was nothing he wanted more than to spend the night in his protective embrace.

Raised voices at the bar caught their attention. Two men in waterproofs had come in, desperate to share their news.

“Two in one day. You would hardly believe it,” one of the men said.

“What’s this?” the bartender asked.

Harry sat up and twisted in his seat to see who they were. He recognised one of the guys as a regular from the working men’s club.

“There’s been another murder.”

Harry and Christian exchanged a startled look.

“When?” Harry shouted over to the men. “Who is it?”

They turned in his direction.

“Don’t know who, but the police are all over the Moor Estate—blue lights, ambulances, the lot. They’re saying a young lad has been found dead in his front room. His mother came home late from work and found him. That’s what we’ve heard, anyway.”

Harry and Christian stared at each other, open-mouthed.

“This can’t be right. Two boys dead in one day,” Christian said. “What are the chances?”

“That’s not the only thing,” the man at the bar said. “He was stabbed, just like that lad on the boat this afternoon. You can’t tell me they’re not connected.”

Harry’s jaw hung in amazement.

Two murders in Nyemouth in a single afternoon.

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