Page 80 of Kiss Me Honey Hone

Kenny averted his gaze to his plate, but there was amusement in his eyes. And a twitch of his lips suggesting he recalled quite well how Aaron had talent for that.

“They were teaching us independence and healthy living from an early age. Y’know, what parents are supposed to do but don’t.”

“What did you cook?”

“Super noodles with broccoli.” Aaron chuckled. “Nah, seriously. If I had the budget they’re giving me now, I’d still cook. Sadly, I don’t.” He picked up his wine, swirling it lazily in the glass. “Plus, I think you like cooking for me. It’s that whole ‘caretaker’ thing you have.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “Caretaker thing?”

“You like looking after me. Making sure I eat. That I’m okay. It’s your way of keeping control.” Aaron smirked. “You can’t help yourself.”

“Control?” Kenny’s voice was mild, but his grip on the fork tightened.

“Yeah. It’s not about power. Not really. You don’t want to own people. Or dominate them. You want to fix them. Keepthem together, but keep them yours.” Aaron took a slow sip of his wine, watching Kenny over the rim. “It’s kind of sweet, really.”

Kenny said nothing, just cut another piece of food, but Aaron didn’t miss the way his shoulders stiffened. As if he’d had a taste of his own medicine. Aaron had seen him a little too clearly.

So he moved on, “What did DI Bellend say then?”

“I have files to look at.”

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up. “From the scene?”

“Yes. Unofficially. Which means even if I see something useful, there’s a chance they can’t use my consult because of my involvement.”

“So therearepitfalls to dipping your knob in the office ink.”

“Many,” Kenny deadpanned, eyes narrowing in warning.

Aaron swirled his wine. “Can I see them?”

Kenny stood, pouring more wine into both their glasses. “You wash up, and I’ll lay them out in the living room.”

Aaron shivered in mockery. “Your dirty talk turns me all the way fucking on, y’know?”

Kenny ignored him, carrying his glass to the next room. Aaron made light work of washing up, then scrambled over to where Kenny sat on the edge of the sofa in front of the coffee table that he’d spread photographs over.

“That was fast,” Kenny said without looking up.

“Like I was gonna let you have all the fun in here.” Aaron dropped to the floor beside him, legs stretching under the coffee table and his shoulder brushing Kenny’s knee as he leaned in to take a look at the photos. “If the dishes weren’t to your standard, do it yourself next time.”

“If they’re not done to my standard, there won’t be a next time.”

Aaron smirked. “Yes, there will.” He then shuffled forward. “What we looking at?”

Kenny pointed with his finger around his wineglass. “CCTVfootage from theGazette. Along with the photos from the crime scene. Carly was working late, alone. The building had one security guard, but he was patrolling the perimeter when it happened. The man buzzed the door, and Carly let him in, probably not expecting anyone that late. He gave her a rose.”

Aaron frowned, eyes narrowing at one of the images. It showed a shadowed figure in a hoodie handing Carly a single rose. The grainy quality of the footage made the scene almost surreal, but the intimacy of the gesture was unmistakable.

“A rose?”

“Yes. And a rose was also found at the scenes of Connie Bishop, Debbie Hess, and Charlotte Mountburrow. Linking them.”

Aaron’s spine stiffened. “Frank used roses.”

Kenny nodded, jaw tightening. “He did.”

“Shit.” Aaron shivered. “I don’t like this.”

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