on the neighbors in the other buildings.” He shifted his weight, not quite looking over his shoulder, and added, “You ok here?” Another of those almost glances. “Alone?”
“Yeah,” Somers said.
Dulac took a step.
“Gray, thanks.”
“For what, man?” And then Dulac was gone.
Somers made his way out of the bedroom and stopped in the kitchen. Hazard stood just inside the sliding door, adjusting the massive cowboy revolver he now carried, settling it in the shoulder holster. Summer heat poured through the open doors at both ends of the apartment, the humidity like an invisible cloud, but Hazard was visibly shivering. Although shivering wasn’t the right word, probably. Trembling, maybe. Shaking.
“I’m sorry,” Somers said again. “I didn’t think.”
“Scared the fucking shit out of me.”
“Are you ok?”
“Yes, I’m ok.” Then Hazard wiped his face and said, “Yeah. I am.”
“Do you want to explain why you’re contaminating a crime scene and at risk of having Riggle throw you in a cell?”
“I’m not contaminating the scene, John.” Hazard gestured at his feet, where he had put on booties. “And I don’t think I’m at risk of getting thrown in a cell, am I?”
“No. Not this time. Because I’m very stupidly in love with you, and Dulac is being unreasonably cool about this. But what if somebody else had been here? What if it had been the FBI?”
“I miscalculated,” Hazard said. “I assumed I was moving faster than the police, so I cut corners; I drove past the front, didn’t see anything, and parked on the south side. That must have been before you opened the front door. Next time, I’ll do a full sweep and make sure.”
Somers worked his fingers in the gloves, trying not to make a fist. “Next time?”
“Theoretically speaking, of course.”
“In what theoretical situation,” Somers said. “would there be a next time? Wait. Where’s Evie?”
“I called; she’s staying for late pickup.”
Somers adjusted the gloves again, but his eyes stayed on his fiancé, picking out the strain only partially hidden by his usual impassive composure: the tightening around Hazard’s eyes, the pallor, the unkempt tangles of hair.
“I made sure she was ok,” Hazard said, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t have left her if she’d had a bad day.”
“I know.”
“She’s been having a lot of fun.”
Somers nodded.
“It’s just once.”
“Ree, you’re the one who hates leaving her there. You don’t have to convince me.”
With a grunt, Hazard moved toward Somers, passed him, and cut toward the bedroom.
“Fuck.”
For a moment, Somers stayed where he was; on the patio, the sunlight hit the rows of pink flamingos at just the right angle to produce a glare, and Somers stared just long enough for pink hot spots to linger in his vision. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, pretty bad.”
“No forced entry?” Hazard said on his way back.
“Not that I can see. He probably picked the lock.”
“But he shot her in bed,” Hazard said. “He got close enough to shoot her without her raising the alarm. Just like Mitchell’s.”
“Different from Mitchell’s place, actually. I mean, at Mitchell’s, he got past all the security, and Mitchell didn’t raise a fuss. Here, though, he might have broken into the house like any ordinary burglar. Why think otherwise?”
“It could have been someone she trusted. The same way it might have happened at Mitchell’s. He showed up, she let him in. No sign of forced entry.”
“But then she got into bed and fell asleep? Not a very good hostess.”
Hazard’s voice was carefully neutral as he said, “I’m sure she’s fallen asleep with Wesley in the apartment before.”
“Wesley didn’t do this.”
“That’s a premature conclusion, John.”
“He didn’t. I was in an interview with him. I looked him in the eyes. I know he didn’t do this.”
“Psychopaths are excellent liars. Even though you’re good at reading people—”
“For heaven’s sake, Ree, I’m not a human lie detector. I know that. But I’m telling you, he didn’t do this. We’ve spent how much time with him, and I know you don’t like him, but that doesn’t mean he did this. Riggle wants to crucify him because he’s trans and because he’s got a relationship with the victims. Those are bullshit reasons. Twenty years ago, hell, maybe ten, maybe five, Riggle would have been trying to pin it on you or me for being queer.”
“Mitchell knew and trusted his abductor—”
“No. Not necessarily. It seemed like that in the shock of seeing the apartment, but I don’t agree. Not anymore. There are a lot of ways the Keeper could have gotten past that security. He might have presented