A Lethal Mistake E-Book

Scotty Cade

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 348

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Bissonet & Cruz Investigations: Book Three Beau Bissonet and Tollison Cruz are back, along with Bruce, Auggie, and now Bastien, Tollison's ex-partner. From the initial spark between them in Zurich, Bruce and Bastien's attraction has flared, and Bastien has come to the Big Easy to explore what lies ahead for them. It's Mardi Gras, and New Orleans is alive and festive, teeming with excited tourists and locals alike. The first few parades go off without a hitch. And then a man is targeted, shot, and killed right in the middle of a crowded street. Auggie and Bruce are called in to investigate, but before they even get started, more deaths occur, one at each of the next two parades. Auggie realizes he's dealing with a serial killer and jumps into action. Beau and Tollison join the investigation and stumble upon some similarities in the murders that are too strong to ignore. But before they can unravel the perpetrator's motives and get ahead of him, he fires another shot that affects the tightly knit group of friends in a way none of them could have ever imagined. Together they must all come up with a plan to stop the killing and serve justice in the process.

Leseprobe

A Lethal Mistake

By Scotty Cade

Bissonet & Cruz Investigations: Book Three

Beau Bissonet and Tollison Cruz are back, along with Bruce, Auggie, and now Bastien, Tollison’s ex-partner. From the initial spark between them in Zurich, Bruce and Bastien’s attraction has flared, and Bastien has come to the Big Easy to explore what lies ahead for them.

It’s Mardi Gras, and New Orleans is alive and festive, teeming with excited tourists and locals alike. The first few parades go off without a hitch. And then a man is targeted, shot, and killed right in the middle of a crowded street. Auggie and Bruce are called in to investigate, but before they even get started, more deaths occur, one at each of the next two parades. Auggie realizes he’s dealing with a serial killer and jumps into action.

Beau and Tollison join the investigation and stumble upon some similarities in the murders that are too strong to ignore. But before they can unravel the perpetrator’s motives and get ahead of him, he fires another shot that affects the tightly knit group of friends in a way none of them could have ever imagined. Together they must all come up with a plan to stop the killing and serve justice in the process.

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Epilogue

More from Scotty Cade

Readers love the Bissonet & Cruz Investigations series by Scotty Cade

About the Author

By Scotty Cade

Visit Dreamspinner Press

Copyright Page

First and foremost, this book, as are all of my books, is dedicated to Kell, my husband of twenty years. Without your continued support and sacrifices, I would never find the time to write. I love you with all my heart.

Additionally—and I know I do this for every book—but seriously, the end product you see would never even pass for a novel if it weren’t for these two ladies:

From the bottom of my heart, I would like to thank my editor, Andi Byassee. She takes my sometimes mixed-up words and turns them into a hopefully interesting and enjoyable read. Thank you, Andi, for your patience and endless wisdom.

And lastly, my cover artist, Reese Dante. She continues to visually bring my stories to life by designing a cover that catches your eye and holds you there. Thank you, Reese.

CLICK.

One simple move from a steady finger and the trigger engaged. The neighbor, standing in his front yard five houses down, had no idea he was scope practice for someone he’d casually shot the shit with a number of times. An image of the neighbor’s face, full of shock and disbelief before he fell to the ground, appeared in the shooter’s mind. He smiled. Gotcha! Die, you pansyassed motherfucker.

Of course the neighbor didn’t fall. Unsuspecting, he gazed out over his lawn and then looked back toward the garage.

Another man joined the first, dragging a garden hose and carrying two beers. He handed one of the beers to the other, and instantly the shooter’s scope focused on the left temple of the second man as he opened the nozzle and began to water his lawn.

Click.

In the shooter’s mind, the second man, too, fell to the ground. “That’ll teach you queers to infiltrate my neighborhood,” the shooter said out loud.

In a quiet little neighborhood in South Kenner, Louisiana, the shooter lay stretched out on his belly, aiming a highly polished and well-maintained M40A1 sniper rifle through an oval window in a fake dormer of his attic. He constantly scanned the neighborhood for signs of anyone mulling about and almost always came up with at least one target. Today he got two.

The shooter shimmied back away from the window, sat up, and gently laid the rifle in an open gun case. He’d done this at least once a day, sometimes as a many as five times a day, for the last two years, taking advantage of various lighting changes, weather conditions, and distances, as well as maneuverability.

The shooter looked out of the window again and gave the neighbors the middle finger. “This is your lucky day, motherfuckers! If I had actually loaded the gun, both of you would have fallen, just like the rest of the assholes who won’t see the bullet coming.”

The shooter closed his eyes and imagined his future victims falling like snow on a winter’s day in Aspen. “I’ll teach the motherfucking queers a lesson.”

A little voice in his head spoke to him softly. I only wish there was a way to let them see who pulled the trigger.

“No!” he said out loud. “I already told you that would be way too risky. Plan your work and work your plan.” He added, “It’s the only way.”

The shooter smiled again as he imagined the expressions on his victims’ faces, one by one, as he went over their names in his mind. He smiled at one name in particular, wishing he could be close enough to see the shock on that one’s face, the disbelief when he finally realized it was all over and his lifeless body fell to the ground. But that was impossible. His plan didn’t allow for it.

“They’re fucking queers, and they deserve to die.”

Queer? Just like you?

“No!” The shooter slammed the lid on the gun case closed and fought the nagging feelings of guilt and pain trying to make their way into his brain.

But, as usual, it didn’t take long for anger and hatred to replace the other emotions. He slithered backward on his stomach, dragging the gun case with him, mumbling the entire time.

“They used you and then threw you out like yesterday’s trash. All fucking queers are like that. Now let’s see who gets hauled away like trash. The first Mardi Gras parade rolls in two days. It’s finally time!”

“COME ON!” An impatient Montgomery Beaumont Bissonet slapped the steering wheel with both palms and then laid on his horn. “I love Mardi Gras as much as the next guy, but this is ridiculous.” He looked at his watch. “Three blocks in an hour. We’re gonna have to find a new route home.”

“Beau! If you blow that damn horn one more time….”

“What? You’re gonna take it out on my ass when we get home?”

Tollison Eduardo Braga Cruz, his business and life partner, raised one eyebrow. “Maybe.”

Beau laid on the horn again and smiled defiantly. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Tollison couldn’t stifle his laugh. “Do you really think blowing the horn is gonna make the traffic move any faster?”

“No. But it makes me feel better.”

Tollison met Beau’s gaze. “Enough with the horn. Okay?”

“Come on, Tol. You provoked it. At least threaten me with something I hate.”

“Okay. Like what?”

“Oh… I don’t know. Like maybe forcing me to go into the bathroom after Iona or something.”

Tollison howled. “Where did that come from?”

Iona Ball was a sweet elderly lady they’d met while solving the Royal Street heist. She’d been the administrative assistant to a questionable art dealer named Dudley Robinette. But when Mr. Robinette was found strangled to death at one of his gallery showings, she no longer had a job.

After the case was solved and Beau and Tollison resigned their positions to open their own private investigations business, they’d rented the space previously occupied by Robinette’s business, and she… well, let’s just say she came with the place.

Beau gave Tollison an incredulous stare. “Are you telling me you haven’t noticed the foul odors, not to mention the strange noises that come out of that bathroom when Iona is dropping the kids off at the pool?”

“Jeez, Beau. Dropping the kids off at the pool? What a lovely term.”

“Come on, Tol. I don’t know what that woman eats, but man oh man.”

“She’s an old lady, Beau. And we knew she was an old lady when we hired her, but she’s a damn good office manager, and more importantly she’s our friend.”

“Yes, she is, and I adore her, but can’t she drop the kids off at her own pool?”

Beau was so bored he hoped he could get Tollison agitated enough to take him on. Secretly, Beau loved torturing Tollison with these kinds of discussions. They were always entertaining, and boy, did he need a distraction from the traffic right now. Anything to pass the time. Tollison opened his mouth. Yes! Here comes the tirade.

Beau knew Tollison well enough to know he would argue any point to the bitter end, even something as trivial as whether people should be able to use the bathroom whenever and wherever they needed to. But much to his dismay, Tollison closed his mouth when the traffic started moving and thereby avoided falling into one of Beau’s traps.

Damn! I was so close. Beau was disappointed. He knew he was being disrespectful, not to mention an ass, to poor Iona, but he didn’t really mean it. He was just trying to get a rise out of Tollison. In all honesty, being an ass was one of the things Beau did best. It was a gift! But being disrespectful was something he saved for when he was trying really hard to make a point.

When they finally crossed over St. Charles Avenue and things started to move again, Tollison sighed. “We’re definitely going to have to find a new route home. Tonight is just the first of the many Uptown parades, and we’ve got another two weeks of this.”

“Maybe we can switch up our hours, go in earlier and work from home a little more.”

“That might work,” Tollison agreed. “At least we could get home before all this mess starts.”

“Hey! You don’t get to refer to Mardi Gras traffic as a mess. That’s a privilege reserved for us locals.”

“Fine. But we don’t have these traffic problems during Carnival in my country.”

Beau smiled when he realized this might be another opportunity to get Tollison going. “That’s because everyone drives donkeys in Portugal,” he said.

Tollison huffed. “Come on, Beau. How many times do I have to tell you we don’t use asses for transportation in Portugal? They’re reserved for husbands and private investigators.”

“Ha-ha.” Beau chuckled. “Good one. But remember, you’re a husband and a PI too.”

“Yeah, well,” Tollison agreed, “I can also be an ass.”

“Tell me about it.”

Tollison gave Beau another raised eyebrow, and Beau reached over and squeezed Tollison’s knee. “Just kidding, love muffin.”

“I figured as much.” Tollison laid his hand on top of Beau’s. “So we’ll talk to Iona about changing our hours tomorrow morning.”

“You do remember we own Bissonet & Cruz Investigations. Right?” Beau asked.

“I know, but Iona relies on us for certain things, and it will change her schedule as well.”

“Good point.”

Beau pulled into their driveway on Prytania Street at long last and put the SUV in park. “Home sweet home.”

“Yeah. And it only took us two hours as opposed to our normal fifteen minutes.” Tollison opened his door and walked around to the back of the SUV.

People dressed in all sorts of costumes were flooding down Prytania and heading up Broadway to St. Charles Avenue, pulling kids in wagons, hauling ladders with seats bolted to the tops, carrying lawn chairs and coolers. It was mayhem.

“Look at the people!” Tollison said.

Beau nodded. “Yep. First two Uptown parades. The Krewe of Oshun rolls at six o’clock, and immediately following is the Krewe of Cleopatra. Big night in the Garden District.”

“Back to back?”

“Sure. And there are two more parades rolling in Metairie—Krewes’ of Excalibur and Athena—and one in the French Quarter as well.” Beau cast a questioning glance at his partner. “We’re still going tonight, right?”

“Hell yeah. This is my first real Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Well, technically it’s my second. I was living here last year, but remember I had to be back in Atlanta for a few weeks, packing up and trying to close on the sale of my condo. I missed the whole damn thing. But I wouldn’t miss this year for the world.”

“Good. And don’t remind me,” Beau said. “That was the three longest weeks of my life.” He took Tollison by the hand and led him up the steps to the front porch, then unlocked the door and stepped inside with Tollison following.

“Hey, what’s the official attire for a Mardi Gras parade anyway?” Tollison asked.

“Nothing designer, if that’s what you’re asking,” Beau said playfully. “I’m wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. And I’d bring a jacket. It might get a little chilly after dark.”

“No. I meant seriously, nothing designer?”

Beau laughed, pulling Tollison into his arms and whispering into his ear. “I know, Mr. Armani. It’s gonna be tough, but I think you’ll survive.”

Beau let his hands slip down to rest on the tight muscular globes forming Tollison’s ass. He squeezed. “I’m gonna head up and shower.” He kissed Tollison’s neck. “I’ll wash your back, if you’ll wash mine.”

“You go on up. I’ll grab us a couple of beers and be up in a second.”

“Okay.” Beau stole another kiss. “But hurry.” He hit the stairs, taking them two steps at a time, loosening his tie and sliding it from his collar as he climbed.

In the bedroom Beau shed his suit coat, toed off his shoes, and within minutes was naked as a jaybird, standing impatiently in front of the glass-enclosed shower. He bounced from foot to foot and wrapped his arms around himself as he waited for the water to heat up.

Seconds later he stepped into a steaming hot shower and closed the door behind him. He felt like he was being wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and basked in the sensations. Bracing his hands against the wall on each side of the showerhead, he allowed the hot water to beat down on his head, neck, and shoulders, washing away the stresses of the day. He waited with anticipation for Tollison to join him.

As the water streamed down on him, he thought back to his and Tollison’s rough beginning. The Royal Street art heist was where it all started. They had been involuntarily thrust upon each other while independently trying to solve the case, and at the outset it hadn’t gone well. The lead detective and the insurance investigator had been a volatile combination at best, each fighting for control. Then, to add insult to injury, they’d been ordered to work together when the robbery became a high-profile case.

In the end that heist had forged a mutual respect and trust between them that turned into a steamy romance and then into something much more. Love. Something Beau had only experienced a couple of times in his life. He knew without a doubt Tollison had his back, and Beau would give his own life to save Tollison’s. He loved the man that much.

Beau shivered but smiled broadly when he felt a momentary burst of cold air fill his warm space. He didn’t have to open his eyes to picture Tollison’s tan, long, lean, muscular body stepping into the shower and standing behind him. In his mind’s eye, he saw every inch of the man from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. They had been together just under two years, and the expectation of Tollison’s touch still drove Beau every bit as wild with need and desire as it had when they’d first met.

In a playful mood and wanting to toy with Tollison just a little, Beau ignored him and instead filled his hands with shower gel from the dispenser. Starting with his biceps, he ran his hands all over his body, soaping himself, taking a little extra time to spread his ass cheeks to make sure Tollison got a nice view of his bottom.

When Beau struck a strategic pose and bent over to wash his calves, he felt as much as heard Tollison growl as he stepped up behind him and slid his already hard length into the crack of Beau’s ass.

Beau smiled. “Sam? What are you doing here? Tollison’s downstairs!”

He let out something between a yelp and a squeal when Tollison’s hand landed on his ass with a slap that echoed through the shower. Tollison pulled him close until his back was against Tollison’s chest and held him there. Beau could feel the heat of Tollison’s breath against his ear when he whispered. “Sam, huh?”

Before Beau could think of something clever to say, Tollison bit his earlobe, sending pulses of pleasure through his entire body.

Tollison’s lips moved lower, mouthing seductively at Beau’s neck, and Beau shuddered and tilted his head to give him better access.

“I meant to say Toll—” Beau mumbled. But he swallowed his voice when Tollison slipped one finger inside him and simultaneously bit down on the sensitive area between his neck and shoulder to suck on his wet skin.

“Say you’re sorry,” Tollison whispered, pushing a second finger inside, “or you’ll need to be punished.”

Beau closed his eyes and didn’t respond.

“I said—”

“I know what you said, Sam, but I think I’d rather take my punishment.”

Tollison hissed and scissored his fingers, which were already slowly moving inside of Beau’s soapy opening. Beau stiffened and then relaxed as his cock filled with each of Tollison’s movements. He placed his hands on the shower wall and dropped his head. Tollison nibbled and bit Beau’s neck and shoulders, bringing him right to the edge of pain and then licking the sting away. He removed his fingers, and Beau was about to complain when he felt Tollison’s length pressing against his opening, pushing in ever so slowly.

His heart rate and breathing doubled instantly, and he braced himself for the wonderful piercing pain he knew was soon to follow. Beau moaned and clawed at the marble wall when Tollison not only breached his opening but pushed all the way in without stopping.

Thousands of lightning bolts flashed behind Beau’s eyes, jolting him with electricity and forcing him into submission. Tollison was in total control, and Beau didn’t want it any other way. It wasn’t often he could let go and give himself to Tollison like this—allowing him to completely overpower him. But when it did happen, he loved it.

Tollison held his position, giving Beau time to relax around him, but Beau didn’t want to relax. He wanted Tollison to fuck him and fuck him hard.

“Move!” Beau hissed. “Now!”

Tollison pulled almost all the way out. “You gonna lay on the horn again the next time we’re in traffic?”

“Hell yeah!”

Tollison slammed back into him, and Beau cried out again, “Hell yeah!” He craned his head around, searching for Tollison’s mouth in the steamy shower, and they came together in a hungry, devouring kiss.

Tollison pulled out. “You ready for your punishment, boy?”

“Yes!” Beau screamed.

Plastering his lips against Beau’s back, he plowed right back in. Beau’s guts felt like they were going to explode each time Tollison’s length filled him. With each thrust, the pain slowly morphed into pleasure, and then when Tollison brushed against Beau’s sweet spot, Beau howled with unbridled desire. “Punish me, Sam. Please!”

Tollison now had him by the hips and was thrusting in and out feverishly, sending volts of electricity coursing through him with each plunge. Tollison reached around Beau, took him in hand, and started pumping in unison with each thrust.

Beau was suddenly on the verge of an explosion. All of his nerve endings were on fire, and with each of Tollison’s moves, the sensations multiplied. He was on extrasensory overload, and he couldn’t last much longer. “Oh God, Tol. Don’t stop.”

“What happened to Sam?” Tollison asked, not missing a beat.

“Who?” Beau asked.

“I love you,” Tollison said as picked up the pace.

Tollison’s hand and cock were an unstoppable team, and Beau was at his limit. He sucked in a ragged breath and released it. “Now!”

“Let go, baby,” Tollison said. “I’m there too.”

Beau’s felt his ass tighten around Tollison as the first wave of his orgasm washed over him. He watched his release land on the marble wall in front of him, spurt after spurt. Almost instantly he felt Tollison’s warm explosion deep inside his gut. Beau rode the waves of pleasure as Tollison rammed into him a few more rounds, emptied into him, and then slowed.

When they were both spent, Tollison collapsed onto Beau’s back, and Beau kept them upright only because his hands were still braced on the wall. When Tollison was upright once more, Beau turned in his arms and covered his lips in a crushing kiss, sloppy tongues thrashing everywhere. Beau hoped the kiss expressed his gratitude and love for the man standing in front of him. When the kiss finally ended, Beau held Tollison’s face in his hands.

“I love you.”

Tollison ran his tongue over Beau’s shoulder and licked up to his ear. “I love you too. Burt.”

“Asshole!” Beau howled and smacked Tollison on the ass.

THE NIGHT was filled with an unmistakable energy—the sights and sounds of Mardi Gras were everywhere. The distant smell of horse shit and exhaust fumes from the tractors filled my nostrils, and damn if it didn’t smell like every Mardi Gras before it.

I’d gotten so used to my solitude, the fact that I was enjoying this so much was extremely surprising to me. I had always been sort of a loner, especially after my relationship with Byron went south, but tonight my best friend had insisted on dragging me out to the parade, and he was enjoying himself so much it seemed to be contagious. Why not go out and enjoy myself? I had my best friend by my side, a cold beer in my hand, and all the Mardi Gras beads I could catch.

The marching bands were doing their thing. The clown cars were rolling. And the brightly colored floats were throwing any- and everything I could imagine. When a stuffed toy landed at my feet, I stooped to pick it up. Just then something else bounced off my head and shoulders. I realized I’d missed being out with friends, and Mardi Gras was a great coming-out party. A couple of carefree weeks in the middle of winter where people could let their hair down, dress up in any kind of getup they wanted, and act like fools. It felt good to feel alive again! Before I knew it, I was doing the Mardi Gras Mambo like no one was watching, and it seemed to be the only thing I cared about.

The next float rolled in front of me. Instinctively I raised my free hand and started screaming like a fool. “Throw me something, mister!”

A plastic ball bounced off my chest, and just before I bent down to pick it up, I felt a piercing pain in the back of my head. My first thought was that someone had thrown something hard. It hurt like hell, but it didn’t feel like anything I could identify. I cupped the back of my head and felt a warm, wet sensation on my fingers. When I brought my hand to my face, I saw my own blood dripping from my fingertips. In that second my legs went numb and gave out, sending me to the pavement with a thud.

People’s elongated faces were staring down at me with expressions of horror. I saw my best friend drop to my side, and I thought I heard him calling my name, but I couldn’t be sure. His eyes were wide with panic, so I turned away and focused on the people standing above me. They all began to sway and swirl into one large blur of colorful hats and beads, and their mouths were open like they were screaming, but I heard no sounds. The noises of the night had begun to drift away until there was dead silence. I felt very weak, and then everything went dark.

THE ST. Charles Avenue parade route was filled with people at least ten deep. Beau had taken Tollison by the hand and dragged him through the crowds, weaving and winding with persistence, sidestepping here and plowing through there, using means just short of knocking down children and old ladies until they were at the front of the crowd.

Tollison stood in amazement at the sheer number of people lining the street in anticipation of the first Uptown parade. He could feel the electricity in the air as parade goers of all ages stood upright, packed together like sardines in a can. Some children were perched on their father’s shoulders and some on ladders, while senior citizens sat in lawn chairs at the back of the crowd.

In the distance the faint sound of sirens, mixed with marching drums, cymbals, and tubas filled the air. A few minutes later, Tollison saw flashing lights as police cars worked their way slowly down the avenue, edging the sidewalks and keeping pedestrians pushed back and off of the street.

Beau looked at Tollison, his uncomplicated smile consuming his face. He winked at Tollison, and the simple gesture had Tollison’s heart melting. Beau had his hands tucked in his jeans pockets, and he was bouncing up and down like a kid at Christmas. With each passing day, Tollison realized Beau was like an onion. There were so many layers to the big guy, and Beau had been slowly revealing them, layer after layer. The more Tollison saw, the more he loved.

Tollison had witnessed Beau on more than one occasion, mostly in business, being a complete intimidating asshole. But then with the flip of a switch, he became a very passionate lover and a sweet and caring man. He could go from grumpy and pouty to almost childlike with wonder and anticipation. Would he never see the end to Montgomery Beaumont Bissonet’s layers? He hoped not. Beau was a complicated asshole sometimes, but he was his complicated asshole, and that’s all that mattered.

“Here we go,” Beau said, startling Tollison out of his thoughts. When he looked up, two people passed by carrying a banner that read The St. Augustine Marching Band, and the crowd went wild when they started playing the hit song “Titanium.” The horns blared, the cymbals clashed, and the drums blasted as the band danced, spun, and weaved in complete unison. Tollison’s mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never seen anything so amazing, even at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.

Beau beamed as he clapped and danced along to the music. Again, another layer of Beau Bissonet revealed itself.

Next up was a very small clown car with a dozen or so clowns hanging out, throwing beads and candy. The driver honked the horn as he maneuvered the car from left to right, the clowns laughing and screaming with delight.

Then a group of men appeared, and Tollison blinked twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. The men were all wearing matching velvet smoking jackets and ascots and riding in motorized easy chairs. Tollison howled when he read the banner: The Laissez Boys.

Beau gestured to the chairs. “I think we need one of those.”

“Who doesn’t?” Tollison said, waggling his eyebrows. After several more marching bands, skimpily clad dancing women, and colorful Indians on horseback went by, the first float came into view. Pulled by a red tractor bearing a sign that read Krewe of Cleopatra, it was brightly painted and boasted a large asp on the front—curled, poised, and ready to strike. When the float passed in front of them, Tollison watched Beau raise his hands in the air and jump up and down, yelling at the all-female Krewe to throw him something. He looked spastic as his body contorted and swayed. Two seconds later they were bombarded with brightly colored beads, cups, and stuffed animals. Tollison caught everything that came his way, putting the beads over his head and stuffing his pockets with everything else.

By the time the third float rolled by, Tollison was sure he looked just as spastic as Beau, but he didn’t care. He was having a ball. The excitement, the people, the lights, and the sounds created a circus-like atmosphere, and he, too, felt almost like a kid. When the last float crept by, neither he nor Beau could fit another thing around their neck and still be able to breathe. Their pockets were overflowing with toys and stuffed animals, they had Frisbees tucked under their arms, and each had a stack of cups two feet tall.

The crowds started to scatter, and Beau and Tollison headed for home.

“What did you think?” Beau asked.

“That was amazing.”

Beau smiled. “Not like the carnival from your country?”

“Yes and no. The crowds are the same, but instead of floats with tractors pulling them—”

Beau interrupted, “You have donkeys?”

Tollison smacked Beau on his arm, and Beau’s stack of cups went flying into the air.

“Oh shit!” Beau scrambled to catch them, but before he could gather them all, a couple of kids came out of the woodwork like skittering cockroaches and started scooping them up and running away. “Hey, you little shits!” Beau yelled. “Those are mine.”

The kids mocked him, took everything they could grab, and scrambled away. “Now look what you’ve done!” Beau whined.

Tollison laughed so hard he doubled over and didn’t think he could walk. “I’m sorry, but that’s what you get for the donkey joke,” he said between gasps. “Besides, what do we need with fifty plastic cups that say Krewe of Cleopatra?”

“Not the point!” Beau clutched what was left of his cups and, with a slight smile on his face, turned away and started walking home.

Tollison regained his composure and ran up behind Beau. He slipped his arm through Beau’s and handed him his stack of cups. “Here. I want you to have mine. What’s mine is yours, always.”

Beau snatched the cups out of Tollison’s hand and added them to his stack. “Damn straight.”

Tollison felt comfortable walking arm in arm with Beau in their neighborhood. Uptown was pretty open-minded, and besides, who was gonna mess with a couple of guys their size and build. They could be two badass motherfuckers if they needed to be.

“Am I forgiven?” Tollison asked snuggling in a little closer to Beau.

“I don’t know,” Beau said. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about a repeat performance of earlier when we get home?”

“You’re forgiven,” Beau said quickly. “But I’m the one driving this time, and you’re gonna be the one begging for it, Sam.”

“Deal.”

As soon as they stepped into the foyer, they both dropped all their loot on the floor. Tollison sat on the stairs and looked at everything they’d caught, picking through the plastic like it was treasure.

“Pretty good haul, huh?” Beau remarked.

“I’ll say. If we do this well for every parade, we’ll have to buy a bigger house.”

“That’s why we have an attic, silly. Hey! Tomorrow night is Knights of Sparta at six o’clock. You wanna invite Bruce and Bastien and Auggie and Jenny over for the parade and a late dinner?”

Tollison hesitated. “I—I don’t know, Beau. Auggie and Jenny are fine, but I’m still not sure how I feel about Bastien these days.”

“What? We flew halfway across the world to save his ass, and now you’re not sure how you feel about him?”

“That’s different. I couldn’t let him die because of something I did in my past. I guess I’m still pissed off about the way he dismissed me when he found out about my—” He cleared his throat. “—line of work. And I’m a little surprised you suggested it?”

“Why?”

“For starters, I didn’t think you were that fond of the guy.”

“Hey, I’m working out my shit with Bruce.”

“Not Bruce, you lug.”

“I’m not that big a lug. I knew who you were referring to.”

“Sure you did.”

“Look! At first I wasn’t sure about Bastien, but once he convinced me he was going to respect the boundaries of our relationship, I decided to give the guy a chance. Besides, Bruce seems to really like him, and I know we still have our baggage, but I do want him to be happy. Bruce deserves that. Don’t you think?”

“Of course he does. They have been sort of dating or skyping pretty hot and heavy since we got back from Zurich.”

“I know,” Beau said.

Tollison eyed Beau, recognizing something a little off in his quiet words. Bruce Jenkins, a detective with the New Orleans Police Department, happened to be Beau’s ex. Their relationship came crashing down when Beau was still with the NOPD, soon after his promotion to lead investigator. Beau had thrown himself into his work and unintentionally neglected Bruce, who eventually turned to someone else for comfort. It was a one-night stand, but when Beau found out about it, they were instantly over. Tollison’s presence in Beau’s life had had a lot to do with Beau and Bruce coming to terms with their past, but they were still on shaky ground. They were getting past it slowly, but they weren’t all the way there yet.

Beau locked eyes with Tollison and raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay with it…? I mean, them dating? Bastien is your ex too.”

Sebastien “Bastien” Andros. He and Tollison had been together for some time a few years back. In his former life, Tollison had been an art retriever, a principled thief who illegally retrieved valuable art that had been stolen at some time and then returned it to the lawful owner. He’d kept his career choice a secret from Bastien, and when Bastien found out, he hadn’t handled the betrayal well. They had parted ways abruptly and painfully.

Last October, to Tollison’s surprise, Bastien had shown up in New Orleans looking for him. Unfortunately, he’d been followed by someone from Tollison’s past and had been kidnapped and held hostage for the return of a piece of artwork Tollison had once retrieved. That had sent Beau and Tollison, as well as Bruce and Beau’s former partner, August Hebert, to Zurich in search of the artwork, which was how and where Bruce and Bastien had met. And damned if they hadn’t hit it off. Although Bastien had to stay in Switzerland for business reasons, he and Bruce had stayed in touch, and Bastien was finally arriving in New Orleans tomorrow for an extended stay.

Ever since Bastien had come into their lives, Beau seemed to need little reassurances here and there. Tollison took Beau’s hand in his. “I’m still pissed at Bastien, but I’m really good with him and Bruce. Like you, I want Bastien to be happy, and Bruce is a good guy.”

Beau raised an eyebrow.

“Jesus, Beau! We’ve all made mistakes. Seriously! Are you ever going to let that go?”

Beau sighed. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Tollison said in a soft voice. “And I also want you to know there is nothing to worry about concerning Bastien and me. That is over, and I’m with you. Right where I want to be.”

Beau’s smile told Tollison he’d succeeded, at least for the moment. Beau leaned in and gave Tollison a gentle kiss. He stood, lifted Tollison’s leg, and pulled off one of his boots, then grabbed his other leg and removed the second. He toed off his own shoes, took Tollison by the hand, and led him upstairs.

TOLLISON WAS cradled in Beau’s strong arms, sated again and enjoying the closeness they always shared after sex.

“Wanna watch a little news before we turn in?” Beau asked.

“Sure.”

Beau grabbed the remote and clicked on the television. The news anchor repeated the top story of the night. A shooting at the Krewe of Athena parade in Metairie. The male victim took a single high-powered rifle shot to the head and was pronounced dead on the scene. According to witnesses and bystanders, there were no altercations, everyone simply enjoying the parade until a single shot rang out and a man died.

“Jesus.” Tollison raised up onto his elbow. “Rifle shot to the head.”

“I think we’ve heard all we need to hear.” Beau clicked off the television. “Sounds like a premeditated crime to me.”

“And apparently the shooter got his man.” Tollison laid his head back on Beau’s chest. “Maybe you should call Auggie or Bruce tomorrow and see if they need our help.”

Beau switched off the lamp and kissed the top of Tollison’s head. “Good idea. Night, Tol. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

BRUCE JENKINS paced nervously back and forth outside of baggage claim at the Louis Armstrong International Airport. It had been a little over three months since he’d seen Sebastien Andros, and to say he was nervous was an understatement. He and Bastien had skyped almost every day, but it wasn’t like being together. In person.

He hoped when Bastien arrived he would once again feel that jolt of electricity he’d felt in Zurich when he, Beau, Tollison, and Auggie had rescued Bastien from a ruthless art collector from Tollison’s past. Seeing Bastien restrained, with a frightened expression on his handsome face, had made Bruce want to take the man into his arms and reassure him everything was going to be okay. The attraction between them had been almost instant, and in the hours following the incident and before they’d boarded their plane back to the United States, he and Bastien had spent every minute together.

Bruce was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of his cell phone. “Jenkins,” he said without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey, it’s me.”

Hearing Beau’s voice and the familiar greeting brought back a flood of memories of a time when they were happy together as a couple. But that ship had sailed, and Bruce had only himself to blame for it. Yeah, he’d been lonely. But instead of dealing with it, he’d allowed someone else to fill the void. It had been a onetime hookup, and the second it was over, he’d known he’d made a huge mistake. But to Beau that was too little too late. When Beau had found out about it, he’d gone ballistic, and just like that, their relationship was over. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Beau was a sweet, sensitive, and sometimes complicated guy, and above all, he treasured honesty and fidelity. For one brief moment, Bruce had failed miserably at both, and it had cost him his lover. Beau had continued to hold a grudge and treat Bruce like crap until Tollison had come into their lives. Tollison had made Beau see that both of them had been at fault, and since then they had been trying to salvage some type of friendship. In truth, they were doing an okay job so far.

“Oh hey, Beau.”

“Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. What’s—” Bruce stop speaking while a man’s voice announced the carousel from which Delta Airlines travelers arriving on flight 656 from Detroit could retrieve their bags.

“Where are you?” Beau asked.

“I’m at the airport waiting for Bastien. Why?”

“Sounds chaotic.”

“It is.”

A few seconds of silence filled the connection.

“You excited?” Beau asked.

“Yeah. And extremely nervous. But I’m sure you didn’t call to chat about Bastien and me. What’s up?”

“A couple of things. First, Tollison and I saw the news last night about the shooting and wanted to offer our assistance if you guys need any help.”

“Thanks. I’m sure you remember what a madhouse it is at the station during Mardi Gras, and this just adds another level of bullshit. But we’re handling it. For now.”

“I remember. Any suspects yet?”

“Not yet. Auggie is interviewing the victim’s friends as we speak. We’re hoping to know more later today.”

“Well, if you need us, were here.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Oh, and on a personal note, Tol and I wanted to know if you and Bastien wanted to come over tonight for drinks before the parade and then my world-famous chili and cornbread after? We’re also asking Auggie and Jenny.”

“Thanks for including us.” Bruce was touched Beau was even making the effort. “I’ll have to check with Bastien, but it may be just what we need to break the ice a little. It has been a few months since we’ve seen each other, and I’m nervous as hell. Besides, he’s never seen a Mardi Gras parade before, so it might be fun.”

“Okay. Just let me know. And, Bruce?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s all going to be fine. I saw the way Bastien looked at you when we were leaving Zurich. If I were a betting man, I’d say he had it bad then and probably still does.”

Bruce chuckled. “I sure hope you’re right.”

“Is he staying with you?”

“No. He rented the penthouse at the Lafayette Hotel for a couple months. We both thought it might be better that way.”

Beau laughed a deep heartfelt laugh that Bruce hadn’t heard in a while, and it warmed his heart. “Isn’t that right around the corner from your new place on Church Street?”

“Yesss,” Bruce whined, feeling like he’d been busted. “But in all fairness, I did buy the place before I met Bastien.”