Page 6 of His Every Move

“Meh,” he said with a shrug. “I think I already know who killed her.”

“Same.”

Eli grinned. Fuck me, did he have a sexy smile. “Say their names on three. One, two, three: Janice.”

“Emily.”

Eli blinked and laughed. Wow, was that sound beautiful. Almost as nice as the sounds he’d make when he was nearing an orgasm. “Emily? Really?” he asked.

“You don’t think her writing up that fake email to cover for her roommate missing work was suspicious?”

“Oh yeah, that was sus as fuck. But, I don’t know, Janice justseemssketchy. Then again, you’re the detective, so you’re probably right.”

My turn to laugh. “I get some things wrong.”

“Well, I’m almost to the end of the book, so I’m going to find out soon anyway. I won’t spoil it for you, though. Unless I’m right. Then I may shoot you an email.”

You can spoil whatever you want, Eli.

“I’ll make sure I send it to Spam,” I replied with a wink.

He rewarded my sarcasm with another golden laugh.

Fuck. He was making me hard.

I squeezed my legs together under my desk, glad to have some cover. “So, what brings you in today?” I asked, my hands in a loose fist. He leaned back in the chair, taking in a deep breath. A tuft of soft brown hair stuck out from his cap. He wore that same pink hat in some of his streams.

Fuck. Was I being a creeper? This entire situation felt like fate, except fate had nothing to do with Elijah walking in through the Stonewall doors.

Still… fatedidhave a hand in me finding him. And it wasn’t as if I snuck into his house, broke into his phone, and illegally stole all of his nudes. Eli put himself out there, to be watched by thousands of people online. I doubted that I was the first person to cross him in the real world while knowing what he did in the cyber one.

“Damn, I don’t even know where to start.”

You can start on your knees.

“Wherever feels the most natural,” I answered. My cock throbbed against my thigh. I had to click into work mode, but his pouty pink lips were making that incredibly difficult.

Elijah started by telling me his profession (as if I didn’t already know) and went into the issues he’d been having with a certain anonymous user. The messages from this “Nomad” person were definitely reasons to be concerned. They’d started off innocently enough until they began to sound more desperate, more rage-fueled.

“It gets worse,” Elijah said as he put away his phone. “I haven’t told anyone this. But there was a letter inside my mailbox. It was from Nomad. Handwritten, short, really fucking unsettling.”

I cocked my head. “Did you bring it with you?”

“I only have photos. I’ve also gotten the police involved. They were going to test it for fingerprints, but, I dunno, something about the way the cops were talking to me made me feel like they weren’t going to do much.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll follow up with them and make sure I apply some pressure. I can guarantee you I won’t slack on this.”

“Thank you,” Eli said, genuine gratitude in his voice. He handed me his phone. It had a cracked screen protector, with a soft black leather case, still warm from his hand. The letter he’d been sent looked like it had traveled by pigeon. It was wrinkled and stained with a corner ripped off.

The message was brief, written in a shaky script:

I need you to know how perfect you are. Would you be open to meeting face-to-face? Respond to my DMs. Please.

“When did you get this?”

Elijah chewed his bottom lip. It made my blood heat. His lips were plush, sinful, the kind that could make a man snap like a branch in a storm.

Fucking hell. Focus.

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