was Eric’s neighbor.
An image of Eric lying in a pool of his own blood flashes through my mind, and my stomach turns. I glance at the stranger seated beside me. His shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing a broad, heavily furred chest. I’d guess he’s in his late fifties. Eric always liked older guys.
I turn to face him, putting some space between us, mostly wanting to break his hold on my neck. I paste on a smile I don’t feel. “I came to drink and dance. Let’s hang out here for a while.” I’m sure as hell not going anywhere with this guy.
His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s not happy. “I guess we can stay for a little while.” He eyes my empty glass. “What were you drinking?”
“I had a Cosmo, but one was enough.”
He winks at me as he waves at the bartender. “Two Cosmos! And keep them coming!”
Shit. He’s trying to get me drunk.
Chapter 8
Tyler Jamison
It’s all I can do to sit here and watch this guy drape himself over Ian. Ian’s on his second drink, and Turner is already signaling the bartender for another round. I don’t know how well Ian can hold his liquor, but I know one thing for sure. I’m not letting him leave this club tonight with that motherfucker.
Not going to happen.
One thing I’ve noticed about these clubs is that a lot of the men are very hands-on. They like to touch and be touched. It’s not unusual to see men embracing, kissing, or even copping a feel in public. And I know a hell of a lot more goes on in the bathrooms, dark hallways, and the alley out back.
Turner can’t keep his God-damned hands off Ian. He keeps grabbing the back of Ian’s neck, rubbing his shoulders and his biceps. Occasionally, his hand disappears below the counter, and God knows where that’s going. It’s all I can do to keep myself from marching over there and pulling Turner off of him.
I know Ian isn’t enjoying this any more than I am. I’ve seen the strained looks he’s given me tonight, as if checking to make sure I’m still here.
Still watching over him.
Don’t worry, Ian. I’m not leaving you.
I’m searching for any pretense to arrest Turner and take him in for questioning, but I have absolutely nothing to go on right now. The fact he was dating the victim at the time of the killing is not reason enough to arrest him.
After they finish their current round of drinks, Turner gets up and grabs Ian’s arm, pulling him off his barstool. I tense, prepared to intercede if Turner tries to take Ian out of the club. But no, it looks like they’re headed for the dance floor.
Ian is less than steady on his feet as he follows Turner into the pulsating crowd.
I watch as Turner manhandles Ian, pulling him close. From my vantage point, I can see Turner thrusting his hips against Ian’s backside, simulating sex. Turner runs his hands up and down Ian’s torso, stroking him blatantly. And all the while, Turner whispers into Ian’s ear.
When Turner’s wandering hands roam lower, Ian tries to pull away, but he’s wavering unsteadily. Turner has no trouble hauling him right back where he wants him. Ian stumbles back against Turner, his eyes closed as he sways on shaky legs.
Fuck! Ian’s drunk.
I’m off my stool and halfway to the dance floor when Ian manages to break free of Turner and head for the restrooms. I wait to see what Turner’s going to do. But instead of going after Ian, he returns to the bar and flags the bartender.
I follow Ian into the last of several bathrooms. Ian’s standing at the sink, his hands braced on the white porcelain. His chest is heaving. I look around, checking the stalls. Thankfully, there’s no one else in here.
I quickly scan him from head to toe. “Are you all right?”
He nods, and then he turns on the water and scoops a handful into his mouth. He rinses and spits. Then he splashes his face. “Jesus, Tyler, he—”
The door crashes open and two inebriated men stagger inside. Ian immediately clams up, staring down into the sink.
“Let’s go.” I nod toward the exit, and Ian follows me out. Once we’re in the hallway, I steer him to the left and out the back door to the rear alley. It’s dark, and the air is heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke and the stench of ripe trash coming from a