Page 63 of The Evening Wolves

“Hold your water, sweet cheeks.”

“He does have sweet cheeks, doesn’t he?” Shaw asked. “Very pert.”

Emery, though, had fixed a look on John-Henry. “Did he have a scar?”

“On his neck, yeah. Wait, how did you know that?”

Grimacing, Emery took out his phone. It took him a moment to bring up the video, and then it began to play. John-Henry recognized the scene: it was part of the Wahredua police station, in the bullpen outside his office. The man he had fought earlier that evening was standing in front of the office, grinning up at the camera as he flipped them off.

“What is this? And how did you get it?”

“I have a source,” Emery said. “It’s probably better if you don’t know.”

“So, Gray. But how did you—” His gaze slid to Jem, who shrugged, face bland, and buffed his nails on his sweater—brown-and-gray squares in a geometric pattern, obviously from the ’90s grunge collection. “Ok. How many laws did you break?”

“I didn’t break any laws,” Jem said with a trace of outrage. “That would have been cheating.”

John-Henry looked at his husband.

“You’re missing the point,” Emery said. “This man planted that evidence on your computer. He murdered Eric Brey tonight. We’re getting closer, John.”

“Let me see.” North took the phone and frowned at it. He took a screenshot, opened the messages, and typed something out.

“That’s my phone,” Emery said.

“I know.”

The sound of a message being sent came. Then it came again. And then North passed Emery’s phone to Jem.

“Got it,” Auggie said.

Face bright, Shaw held up his phone. “Me too. And I love you too, Emery. Thank you for taking the time to send me such a thoughtful message.”

“I didn’t. My phone, please.”

Jem shook his head. “I don’t recognize him.”

“I do,” Auggie said, his voice tight with excitement. “When Theo and I went to the Cottonmouth Club, he was there. Remember how I told you about Gid realizing he’d said too much? Well, he went over and talked to this guy, and it was him. This guy you got on camera, I mean.”

“There it is,” Emery said to himself, voice low and satisfied.

Theo said something too quiet for the microphone to pick up, and something rustled on the other end of the call. Then he said, “Jem, he’s about the right size, don’t you think?”

Jem stared at the phone. “Oh shit.”

“The right size for what?” John-Henry asked.

“It could be him,” Tean said. “The man who broke into Theo and Auggie’s home.”

“It is him,” Jem said.

“How could you possibly know that?” Emery asked.

“I don’t know, but I’d bet you a gajillion dollars it’s him. He’s got the right look, and—” Jem’s head came up. “You said you guys got into it tonight?”

John-Henry nodded.

“Was he good?”

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