Liam Davis & The Raven (19 page)

I
clicked my pen. “But if I wow you, I have a chance, right?”

“Right.”

I stopped clicking. “Then my article will be in your email by no later than midnight, Friday, the fifth of December.” I turned to leave, but a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I glanced back at the chief, his lips in a firm line.

“
The office will be closed over Thanksgiving weekend.”

“Oh.”
A shame, but as long as I organized myself, I could work from home, so it wasn’t the end of the world. I slipped from his gentle grip. “Okay.”

I worked another hour until it was only
me, Jack, and the chief. At nine, Hunter texted. He’d just finished basketball practice and wanted to know if I was up for a drink. I texted back that I was still working, and fifteen minutes later, Hunter rolled through the doors.

“Shut that thing,” he said, chin jerking in the direction of my laptop. “We’re going for a drink.”

“I can’t, I have to plan this article—”

Hunter’s chest puffed up as he folded his arms and directed me a hard look. “Can’t or won’t, Liam?”

I pushed up my glasses. “This article has to be perfect or my father won’t let me work for him.”

Hunter nudged his chair forward, pressed save, and shut my laptop. I just watched, twiddling my pen as he did it. “You’re smart, there will be other people to work for.”

Numbly, I nodded, but when Hunter slipped my laptop into its gray skin, I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s just about the position,” I said quietly. Standing up, I packed the rest of my bag and followed Hunter to his van.

He drove with purpose
and speed—in the
opposite
direction of home.

“Where are we going?” I asked, gripping my seat belt as we whipped around a corner.

“Cryptions. A bar on Liberty Avenue.”

“Since we could get a drink on
Ellsworth without the detour, I am guessing something else is at Cryptions. Perhaps a
someone
else?”

Hunter grinned, looking at me
from the corner of his eye. “Mitch texted me. He said he’s working there and wants to see me.”

“And I am here because
 . . .?” I clung onto the arm of the door as Hunter swerved around a deep pothole.

“Because I like your company, you
need a stiff drink, and I like having someone to yak with until Mitch gets a free moment.”

The parking lot was busier than I thought it would be for a Tuesday. Inside, a thick crowd of
mostly male students undulated to noisy music. I stuck close to Hunter as we threaded our way through the crowds. Thankfully, most were decent enough to make way for Hunter’s chair, though Hunter’s
You better fucking move
look was likely helping.

“What can I get you?” Hunter yelled over the noise as
I squeezed into a free spot at a corner booth.

“
Some peace and quiet would be nice. But seeing that’s unlikely, a Coke will do.”

A mid-twenty
-something with a double nose-piercing leered at me. I quickly choked out, “And spike it with bourbon!”

Hunter chuckled and
left, and I studiously avoided eye contact with anyone. Taking out my notebook, I sketched a few ideas for my environmental angle, and when my phone beeped, I took it out and read the new e-mail from Mom:

Liam,

I don’t want to disturb you, love, but a couple of things:

1)
      
What are your plans for Thanksgiving? I have been asked to work that day, which would be great for getting in the good books with this new job, but I wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with it?

2)
    
We have a new neighbor here. Every morning at seven he walks his Persian cat by our house and waves. I think I shall introduce myself to him.

Look forward to hearing from you,

Mom

I quickly wrote back:

Mom,

1)
      
I have plans for the weekend, so no problem.

2)
    
Introduce yourself. Tell me the details.

Liam

Hunter bumped his chair against mine and snagged
my notebook from the table. “I’m confiscating this until our bro-date is over.” He slid it down one side of his chair. “Drinks are on the way.”

I glanced toward the bar. Mitch was at the far end
, wearing a net T-shirt and thick eyeliner; his skin glowed the same red as his hair in the orange lights above him. “Did you get to talk?”

“Not yet, he said he’d
come over soon.”

At that precise moment, as Mitch
filled a glass with ice, he looked across the room toward us.

Hunter
shot him a wink, and Mitch fumbled with the glass, ice scattering over the counter. “He’s adorable,” Hunter murmured. He focused back on me, his lips curving downward at the edges. “I had another chat with Jill today.”

“You did?”

“Caught him hunched over a book at the base of a tree by the cathedral.”

That explained why it was only Jack in the office today.
“Bit cold for that, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought. It was almost as if he were waiting for someone. Anyway, not great news on that front.”

“Did he tell you to fuck off?”

“Among other things.
He’s got a foul mouth for such a pretty boy.”

“
The foul part is right.”

“Yeah, well.” Hunter scrubbed the back of his head
and casually locked his fingers together. “He’s not ready to talk. It’s more than the arm and fear that’s hurting him, I think. Can’t push that.”

Mitch set o
ur drinks down and scouted the booth for seats, but nothing was free.

Hunter slapped his lap. “You can sit here if you like.”

Mitch grinned and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I picked up my drink and sipped.
Sweet and smoky.

Hunter snagged Mitch’s fingers and drew him forward one step. “Yeah, and I’d like it even more if it came with an answer.”

Mitch’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “What answer?”

“Why didn’t you show up the other week?”

Mitch and I stared at his and Hunter’s entwined fingers. Such a simple touch, yet it made their faces glow like the New York City skyline.

“I’m sorry. I”
—he glanced uncomfortably at everyone around the table—“I’m really sorry.”

Hunter played with Mitch’s fingers, looking into his eyes. “Look, you can talk to me okay? I know things aren’t ideal. I expect there to be issues. Just let me know
what they are, okay?”

“
Okay.”

“
Lean in, I have something else to tell you.”

With a curious frown, Mitch leaned in. Hunter cupped a hand behind his neck and drew him closer still, as if to whisper in his ear.
His lips brushed against Mitch’s jaw, then swiftly to his mouth. Their kiss wasn’t delicate in the least. Hunter locked him into a tongue party that had Mitch moaning and crumpling toward his lap.

With a murmured laugh, Hunter slapped Mitch’s ass and pulled back. “More of that on Saturday, after a date. What do you say?”

Mitch gulped and nodded, touching his ass in wonder. “I mean, no, I can’t.”

Hunter stilled his hands on the arm of his chair and a strange desire to
pat him came over me, but I reined it in.

“Wait, this is coming out wrong,” Mitch said. “I’m leaving for home at the end of the week. My sister is getting married, and since Thanksgiving is next week, I’m taking the whole week off.” He bit his bottom lip as he continued,
but I got the feeling there wasn’t much enthusiasm behind his next words. “Will you maybe come to the opening party of the 32
nd
floor of the Cathedral of Learning? With me? As a date?”

Hunter needled a finger in
to one of the netted holes of Mitch’s T-shirt and drew him in again. “You betcha,” he said with one last nip at his lips.

Mitch floated back to his position behind the bar, and Hunter drank his
lemonade with the most enthusiasm I’d seen yet. I snuck a sip to make sure it hadn’t been spiked. Nope, unless plain ol’ good mood counted.

When we twisted and turned and rolled our way out of the bar,
he asked about my work and the article I was intending to write for the chief.

“Sounds okay,” he said
, unlocking the van.

“Just okay?”

“I mean, I’ve read your work. You’ll make it awesome.”

Once we were settled and strapped into the van, Hunter rested his arms on the steering wheel and looked over at me. “I just
—”

“What?”

He started the car and reversed. “You said you didn’t think you were doing it just for the position at your dad’s company.”

He
had
heard me then. I’d just assumed it wasn’t worth acknowledging. A slight twist in my gut had me swallowing hard. I liked that he listened.

“That’s right,” I said, counting each wave of light rolling over us from the lampposts we passed.
“I never thought it bothered me, but I want him to recognize me. See me as someone worth getting to know. I think I’ve associated winning the spot at his company with a chance for him to do that.”

The waves
of light were coming slower now; Hunter must have lowered his speed.

“I get it,” Hunter said, his thumbs tapping against the wheel as if he were deep in thought. “I’m sorry for dragging you away from your work tonight.”

I rubbed my hands together, jamming them for warmth between my thighs. “I was probably too tired to produce anything of quality, anyway. Thanks for the distraction. Which reminds me”—I tugged at my seatbelt strap—“I’m gay, or—heavily leaning toward males.”

The van lurched, throwing me forward a
couple inches; the seatbelt locked hard across my chest.

“When did you figure that out?” Hunter asked,
regaining his control and smoothly turning toward home.

“There
were a few signals from the start, so I decided to test my theory out.”

Hunter
zipped onto College Street without indicating. I could just make out my apartment from here, its teal trimming a funky dark green in the night.

“Go on,” Hunter said.

I picked at the belt across my chest while I described my findings. “Things felt better with Quinn than they ever have before, and since the weekend I’ve been looking at guys differently. I think I can now say I am empirically more sexually attracted to males than females.”

Hunter raised one sharp eyebrow and gave a smirk that could land a mark in the dark. “Go back to the bit about Quinn.”

“Speaking of,” I said, gesturing out the window toward the path leading to my apartment. Standing opposite each other, arms widely gesturing as if in the middle of a row, were Shannon and Quinn.

Hunter slowed down just before our place, applied the brake, and leaned back in his seat, threading his fingers behind his head. “Well, you don’t see that often,” he murmured.

Even though we were double-parked only a car’s length from my place, neither Shannon nor Quinn seemed to notice us. Hunter used the main control to roll down my window. A cool breeze and Quinn’s voice hit my face.

“
I’m telling you because you’re my best friend.” Quinn kicked his heel into the grass at the edge of the path. Then softer, “But I should have told you sooner. Much sooner. I’m sorry for that.”

Shannon’s hair shook free of a loose hold. Her blue streaks
shone brightly under the ornate lamppost nestled in front of a large willow lining the path. She was scrunching something in her hand, paper of some sort. “You . . .” she trailed off, stepping back, her shit-kickers clomping against the concrete.

She
glanced to her side, and her gaze latched onto the van. Us. She sought Hunter, eyes glazed and saddened.

Tossing the paper at Quinn, she hurried up the street, quickly disappearing into thick shadows.

“What was that about?” Hunter mused as we watched Quinn chase after her in his pajama bottoms, unzipped parka, and unlaced boots.

I
slipped out of the van. Shivering against another breeze, I darted to the path, chasing after the scuttling balled paper. I opened it, carefully flattening the paper against my thigh. The words jumped out at me, sharp and long like Freddy’s fingers had been. It was the flyer from the Jell-O party. The one wanting any and every bit of information on The Raven. The one threatening to hurt him.

For a long, cold minute I stared at that paper until all of my thoughts crashed together and unified to give me an answer.
The
answer.