Page 6 of No Surrender
“Not sure. I have some more leads to track down,” Walt replied.
Vic nodded. “Let me know what you find.”
Walt handed off a folded piece of paper. “That’s a printout of my spreadsheet. Names, ages, all the details I’ve been able to track about the people who disappeared. Including my aunt’s friend.” He met Vic’s gaze. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. This one’s personal. I shouldn’t have waited this long to approach you.”
“No promises on what I’ll turn up, but I’ll give it a shot,” Vic assured him. Walt stepped out of the way, and Vic got on the Hayabusa and roared off.
* * *
Vic breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled into the driveway at the blue bungalow he and Simon shared. He drove around the block first to assure himself that reporters hadn’t staked out the house. Simon watched out the window as Vic walked up the steps and greeted him with a quick kiss.
In this light, Simon’s hazel eyes were more green against shoulder-length wavy chestnut hair. He stood a couple of inches shorter than Vic, so he had to stretch to kiss him. His faded T-shirt clung just enough to flatter his toned, lean body.
Vic gathered Simon against him for a hug, loving how Simon fit in his arms. Vic’s short black hair, dark brown eyes, and olive skin contrasted with Simon’s coloring, as did Vic’s more muscular build and the tattoos that peeked from beneath the sleeves of his shirt.
“You were looking for the press, weren’t you? I heard your bike go past and figured you were checking.” Simon chuckled. “I would have texted you if we had a problem.”
Vic shouldered out of his coat and toed off his boots. “I know you would have. It’s just been a long day, and I had to swim through the sharks once already.”
Simon twisted the cap off a bottle of Vic’s favorite beer and handed it to him, surprised when Vic shook his head. “I need water. Think I got hit with food poisoning this afternoon.”
“That’s weird. You’ve usually got a cast-iron stomach.”
Vic shrugged. “Not today.”
“I made your mama’s stuffed shell recipe. It’s in the oven and almost done. There’s salad and garlic bread. Time to relax.”
“Not sure how much I can eat right now, even though I swear I barfed up everything I’ve eaten since high school. But I’ll try.”
Vic loved how good Simon was at reading his moods and knowing how to nudge him out of a funk. Homemade comfort food and Vic’s favorite brand of beer were a solid start to turning the day around.
“What was your day like—aside from all the new bookings,” Vic asked as he filled two bowls with salad and retrieved the Parmesan cheese from the fridge.
“We got some new shipments, so Pete and I got those into the system and out into the shop,” Simon replied. Vic knew how much Simon depended on his assistant store manager and fellow tour guide to keep Grand Strand Ghost Tours running, especially when Simon got pulled away to help with a case.
“It’s the off-season, so the Boardwalk is pretty quiet,” Simon added. “Which suits me fine. We’ve had more than our share of excitement lately.”
“Heard anything from Dante?” Vic decided to skip the salad and helped himself to a slice of garlic bread. Dante was Simon’s ghostly privateer ancestor who not only retained his memories but also his magic more than two hundred years after his death.
“Not today.” Simon spooned a couple of stuffed shells onto his plate and grabbed some bread to go with it. “He drops in every so often, especially if there’s a storm coming. Why?”
Vic shook his head. “Just wondered. If you didn’t talk to any interesting living people, I thought maybe the dead ones had news.”
“You say that like the afterlife is exciting,” Simon replied. “I have it on good authority that it isn’t.”
Vic had taken longer than he now liked to admit to realize just how powerful a medium Simon was and that his abilities and visions were real. Just in the year they had been a couple, he had seen Simon’s magic grow stronger and knew his fiancé had learned new ways to use his gifts.
The supernatural aspects didn’t frighten Vic, but the dangers that came with knowing inconvenient truths and buried secrets sometimes kept him awake at night, worried about the safety of the man he loved.
Then again, he knew that Simon faced his own well-founded fears over Vic’s job as a detective. Unfortunately, circumstances had substantiated their worry more than once.
“The stuffed shells are awesome.” Vic picked at his food to stop his thoughts from spiraling. “You’ve got Mom’s sauce recipe perfect.”
Simon grinned. “High praise, coming from you. I’m pleased with how it turned out.”
“It was weird today.” Vic told Simon about the reporters staked out in front of the precinct and the vintage Springsteen ticket. “I still don’t know where that came from. If I’d have ordered it, I’m sure I would have remembered.”
They were quiet for a while, polishing off dinner before Simon spoke again. “There’s a new ghost hanging around the store,” he said without looking up.
