The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,24

watching.”

“I want to see.”

“It’s probably just a pair of kids—”

“Great. I like kids.”

Before Tean could say anything else, Jem opened the door and slid out of the car. He jogged up the street, checking the pocket of his jacket for the paracord with the hex nut, the telescoping antenna, the barrette, and the folding slim jim. He settled on the barrette, tracing the sharpened tip with one finger as he approached the driver’s window.

Behind him, Tean suddenly groaned, and the sound of the doc’s footsteps slowed. “Hey, um, Jem. Remember how we thought maybe the people watching Hannah might have not been noticed or reported because people weren’t worried about them?”

By that point, Jem was within five feet of the car. The driver’s door popped open, and a tall, blond man got out. He was handsome, in his midthirties, an athlete well on his way to a dad bod. Jem knew him and, for one glorious heartbeat, thought about punching the tip of the barrette through his jugular. Then he decided that Tean wouldn’t appreciate Jem murdering his former fuckboy.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Detective Ammon Young of the Salt Lake City police department demanded.

9

Tean stepped forward, catching Jem’s shirt before he could move any closer to Ammon. The residential street was quiet again, Ammon’s question already carried away by the mountain breeze. Then the car’s passenger door opened, and Ammon’s partner got out. Kat—from Katsuki, her last name—rested her arms on the sedan’s hood and watched.

The silence lasted another moment, and Ammon said, “Ok, fine. If you don’t want to tell me, just get out of here. We’ll talk about this later.” The last half of the comment was directed to Tean, and in spite of everything that had changed over the last seven months, Tean felt his face heat.

“Why are you following Hannah?” Jem said.

“Turn around,” Ammon said, “and go home before I arrest you for obstruction.”

“Come on,” Jem said, smiling, not taking his gaze away from Ammon as he reached down to loosen Tean’s fingers from his shirt. Tean didn’t miss the way Ammon’s eyes darted down to where Jem’s hand closed around Tean’s. He didn’t miss the way Jem held on a little longer than necessary. “We’re buddies. We’re old friends. We’ve been through some serious shit together, and that turned out all right.”

“Get rid of him,” Ammon said to Tean.

Seven months ago, Tean would have done it. Instead, though, he said, “Ammon, this is serious.”

“You’re damn right it’s serious. You’re blowing up this whole operation. Get the hell out of here, both of you.”

“You’re a homicide detective,” Tean said. “You can’t honestly tell me you’ve been following Hannah around for weeks because you think she killed someone.”

“The only thing I’m telling you is that you have five seconds before I cuff you and have a squad car come pick you up.”

“I call bullshit,” Jem said, grinning as he inched closer to Tean, slinging an arm around him. Tean pushed him once, trying to dislodge him, and then gave up. “You’re worried about us messing up your spot, so you’re not going to call for backup. Not on your old friends.”

“This is ridiculous,” Kat said to no one in particular. Then, her gaze shifting to Ammon, she added, “Handle your shit.” She got back into the car and shut the door.

Ammon set his jaw; it was an expression Tean knew from all the way back in high school, and for a long time—almost twenty years—Tean had reacted to that expression automatically. He’d learned to apologize when he saw that expression. He’d learned to back down. He’d learned to change course. But Jem was standing right there, his arm across Tean’s shoulders, and Tean couldn’t explain why that made a difference, but it did.

“Hannah asked us to—”

“Will you stop it?” Ammon snapped. The detective took two steps, grabbed Tean’s arm, and dragged him down the sidewalk. Jem turned to follow. “Stay,” Ammon said, pointing a finger at him.

“That one never works,” Jem said with a big grin. “Except maybe with Scipio.”

“Jem,” Tean said, stumbling to keep up as Ammon towed him along, “just hang out there for a minute, please?”

Jem scratched his beard, but he stopped following. “A minute.”

Tean and Ammon went another twenty yards before Ammon stopped. They were standing in front of a yard littered with toys—frisbees, jump ropes, the remote control for an RC car, an Elsa doll with most of her hair ripped out. Tean’s eyes skated over Ammon, the