Page 51 of Resist Me Not
“I’m doing my job.”
“Which job?”
“Bit of both. You needn’t concern yourself with that, Walker. I will be back for you soon. Can you continue being a good boy for Daddy in the meantime?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he says, and no matter how much my second—well, first in my mind—profession might upset him, I know he means it.
“Good boy. We’ll talk again soon.”
I have napkins in my messenger bag and use them to clean up. Then I head into the restaurant and take a table near the nurse. I don’t always shadow my victims so closely, but there is an added thrill to being near someone whose life you are going to snuff out very soon. It’s almost enough to plump me back to hardness when she glances at me and flushes bright red again, fully aware of what I was doing until I came in.
I would rather have Walker under my touch right now, more than just a voice in my ear, but this balance works well in the interim, during these times when I am unable to touch him myself.
Yes, I think we can maintain this relationship as it is indefinitely so long as Walker remains mygood boylike I know he wants to.
Chapter fourteen
WALKER
LAST WEEK
“You seem nervous, Doctor Hammond.”
I am a fucking wreck is what I am, sitting once again across from Detective Clancy in a busy police station.
The picture of me that was a picture of me and Curtis—because Treystole itaftermurderinghim—is burning a hole in my pocket. I have evidence I absolutely should be turning over to the detective to save myself from the utter insanity of dating a serialkiller, and yet I… I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t get my hand to move and pull the picture out.
I don’t want to turn Trey in. I want to see him again. I want to be with him again.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“No offense, detective, but is anyone ever not nervous while talking to the cops?” I say which, hey, at least that’s true. “My ex is missing and you’ve called me in for the second time. It all feels a little too unfinished, and I seriously hate it. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll help however I can.”
That part is less true.
I don’t want to help.
Detective Clancy taps his pen on his desk. His classically hardboiled and grizzled persona radiates from him way more in person than over the phone. He has a scruffy beard, longish dark hair, and even though his shirt is a bit disheveled like he just roughed somebody up, he is still wearing a tie, and has a fedora on his desk like something right out ofDick Tracy. He’s also chewing on a matchstick like freaking Stallone inCobra.
“I’ll get to the point then.” He tosses a manilla folder between us and opens it facing me. Right on top is a photo of me and Trey kissing in front of my building. “Trey Fisher. Travel writer and a damn difficult man to get photos of. Got lucky with this one. You’re seeing him.”
“Uh… yeah. What does that have to do with Curtis?” Besides that Trey killed him.
And the proof is in my pocket.
Fuck.
“There aren’t street cameras on Mr. Van Kirk’s block the way there are on yours, Doctor Hammond. Unfortunate. But good police work means feet on the ground and knocking on doors, not just relying on technology. Witnesses report seeing someonevery much matching Mr. Fisher’s description near Mr. Van Kirk’s apartment building.”
I have to stay calm. Trey coached me on this if anything pointed to him. “So what? That’s where I met Trey. He was staying across the street at the hotel there.”
“So it would seem.”
“I’m still not seeing a connection, detective.”
