The Square Peg (35 page)

had tied them together, and with that bond severed, what was left?

They were in the rental car and driving before he spoke again, Benedict

apparently content to let him stay silent. Maybe he thought Shane was likely to cough

up a lung if he said too much. Or maybe he just didn’t care what Shane had to say.

“We going back to yours, then?”

“Yes.” Benedict signaled a turn, his attention on the road. “I was supposed to go

and make a statement, but they wanted to speak to us both. I told them I wasn’t going

to take you to the station, and they’d have to come and see us. We’re the victims here,

after all. They’re sending someone over in an hour or so. I planned to go over to the bar,

but they said the criminal investigator was there and it wasn’t a good idea.”

“They’re not going to try to say we torched the place, are they?” Shane demanded.

“Bloody cops—and I know what insurance companies are like. You pay them, year in,

year out—then something happens and they don’t want to know. If they fucking dare

to screw us over on this—”

“Calm down.” Benedict shot him an exasperated look. “No one’s suggested that,

but this is arson we’re talking about, Shane. It’s serious. They need to investigate so

they can prosecute. And the insurance company’s been great. They arranged this car for

me, and you’re entitled to be put up in a hotel since your apartment’s gone, though I

told them that wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Maybe it would be better.” Shane felt as if he were being shadowed by a dark

cloud. “You’ve already got Vincent living with you; you don’t need an extra

roommate.”

“I’d kick Vin out before I’d not take you in, not that I’m going to.” Benedict

slowed the car and glanced at him. “What’s going on?”

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“Other than the business I’ve put my life into, not to mention my home, burning

to the ground because a couple of spoiled pricks don’t like the thought of a bar full of

queers?” Shane sounded just as bitter as he felt. “I don’t have anything left, do I?”

Benedict swallowed but kept his eyes on the road. “You have me.”

And what the fuck was there to say to that? Shane was ashamed of himself. They

were both silent for the rest of the drive. When Benedict put the car in park, Shane got

out and followed him to the front door, then inside.

“I’m going to put these in the wash,” Benedict said, gesturing with the bag that

held Shane’s filthy, smoke-blackened clothes.

Shane wanted to reach out to him, to take his hand and pull him in for a hug, to

apologize, but it already felt too late. It wasn’t as if Benedict wouldn’t be better off

without him. It had been a rough few weeks of work what with the renovations, but

Benedict could just go back to his old life without repercussions.

“Just throw them out,” he said. “They’ll probably just stink up your machine, and

you’ll never get the smell out.”

Benedict gave the bag a doubtful look, then shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. If

you’re up to it tomorrow, we can go shopping for new clothes. Shelly’s out now getting

you some basics to tide you over—you know, toothbrush, razor, underwear—so if you

don’t feel like it, you’ll be able to get by.”

“She’s doing what?” Shane shook his head. “I can get my own fucking toothbrush.

I’m fine.”

“Really?” Benedict arched his eyebrows. “Because you look like shit.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “That why you haven’t touched

me?”

“Why I—” Benedict bit his lip. “No. It’s not.”

“What then? Regretting what you said last night? Don’t worry; I won’t hold it

against you. Heat of the moment and all that shit. It’s forgotten.”

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“Stop pushing me,” Benedict said, enough force behind the words to make Shane

brace himself for a fight. “I can’t deal with you the way I usually do.”

“Sure you can.” Shane jerked up his chin, advancing on Benedict, all swagger and

sass. “You’ve got to be feeling like hitting someone, and you know I like it. Smack me

around. Fuck me. Get it out of your system.”

Benedict looked stricken. Shane hated himself for putting that much hurt in those

dark brown eyes. “You think that’s what we do? Just that?”

No, Shane wanted to say.
You break me apart and put me back together right, so

everything fits; everything’s smooth. You put your hands on me, and you hurt me, but you do it

so fucking carefully. Trust you. Love you. Need you.

All he could do was shake his head, but Benedict seemed to understand. How was

that possible? A man with more sense who could see into Shane like that would run in

the opposite direction as fast as he could.

“Come here,” Benedict said gently. He took Shane’s hand and led him into the

bedroom. “Sit.” Kneeling at Shane’s feet, Benedict slipped off his shoes and peeled off

his socks. Then Benedict got up, went around to the other side of the bed, lay back on

the pillows, and made a come-hither gesture with his fingers.

God, Shane was grateful Benedict wasn’t a man with more sense.

He curled himself into Benedict’s arms, letting the other man’s chest serve as a

cushion, and sighed and closed his eyes when Benedict pulled him closer. “It’s too

much.”

“I know. Just leave it for now, okay? Until the insurance makes some decisions

and we can decide what to do from here. Don’t stress yourself out. You heard the

nurse.”

“I hate the nurse,” Shane grumbled.

“I’m sure she hated you too, by the time you left.” Benedict stroked his hair. God,

it felt good. Shane’s whole body hurt as if he’d climbed a mountain, and he wished he

could just take a bunch of pills and sleep for a week until he felt like himself again.

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He drifted off, dozing, not sleeping, the soft sound of their breathing gradually

aligning, until it felt that they were one person, one heartbeat.

He could’ve stayed like that for hours, but an imperative knock on the front door

jerked him out of the warm fog, and he jerked upright, his tranquil mood shattered.

“Fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Benedict said sleepily. “Just the police.” He sat up, yawning, and

swung his legs to the side. “I’ll let them in.”

The knock was repeated before Benedict reached the door, making Shane mutter

crossly to himself, but he put a polite smile on his face when he joined Benedict and the

two policemen in the living room.

The older of the two cops, a burly man with hair cut as short as Shane’s used to be,

and dark skin, nodded at him. “Mr. Brant? I’m Detective Ellis, and this is my partner,

Officer Denton.”

Denton smiled at Shane, then cleared his throat and looked abashed. He was a

redhead, freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, skinny as a beanpole.

Shane nodded back and took a seat on the couch next to Benedict. “I hear you

caught the sons of—uh, the people responsible for the fire.”

“It wasn’t very difficult,” Ellis said drily. “Usually, criminals don’t stick around,

but these four weren’t even bright enough to run.”

“The three of them were waiting for their friend to finish setting the fire,” Denton

told them. “They didn’t have much choice.”

“Why was that?” Benedict asked.

Ellis permitted himself a smile. “He had the car keys.”

Shane snorted. “Well, I already knew they were brainless thugs, but that proves

it.”

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237

“They’ve been very frank with us, at least until their parents and a team of

lawyers arrived, but by then the damage had been done.” Ellis scratched his chin. “It

wasn’t a hate crime. Not in the true sense.”

That was too much. “What? Of course it bloody was! We were running a gay bar,

and they were straight. What other reason could they have for torching the place? There

wasn’t any trouble with them. No fighting, no one got thrown out, nothing.”

Ellis rubbed his fingers and thumb together, the gesture universal. “Money. The

ringleader was Tony Carter’s son. Does that name ring a bell?”

Shane shook his head, but Benedict leaned forward. “Yes, of course. The company

I work for does his accounts, though he’s not one of my clients now. I stuck to the rules

too much for him.” He turned to Shane. “He’s the man behind the loft development

near us. The paper ran an article about him, right next to the one about the bar,

remember?”

“He’s behind more of the changes to the area than that,” Ellis put in, “though it’s

not common knowledge. He’s got a lot of money invested in making the west side the

new inplace to live and work.”

“And he doesn’t like the idea of a gay bar on his turf,” Benedict agreed.

“We don’t have any reason to think Tony was behind this in a direct sense.”

Denton leaned back in his seat. “Not that he’d be stupid enough to admit it if he was,

but one of the kids probably would have.”

“They’re all adults,” Shane protested mildly. His throat was feeling sore, and he

wondered how much longer this would take. The thought of going back to bed was a

lot more appealing than dealing with this shit. What was the point of it anyway? The

bar was destroyed, and while he hoped the men responsible would have to pay—

hopefully in prison for a very long time—it wasn’t much as far as consolation went.

“Right, sorry,” Denton said, flushing. “You’re right; they’re all over twenty-one. It

seems as if they got it into their heads that they could get away with this and not get

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caught. Maybe they figured Carter would be grateful, or maybe Marco—his son—was

just hoping to reduce his dad’s stress.”

Benedict growled. “By putting other people’s lives in danger? Great. I’m so glad to

know that’s what the neighborhood is like.”

“It’s that reporter who got us into this mess,” Shane reminded him.

Ellis raised an eyebrow. “Reporter?”

“Mary Jaffarian,” Shane offered. “With the
Tribune
. She wrote a piece on our

reopening and made it sound as if Square Peg was a dive bar for lowlifes. Hard to

blame Carter for being stressed out with the way she described the place.”

“It probably didn’t help,” Ellis agreed. “Well, the criminal investigator seems to

think that given what she saw at the scene matches what Marco said he did. This isn’t

something she’s going to spend much time on. She’s liaising with the civil investigator,

and you’ll need to meet with the insurance company to draw up a claim.”

“Is there much left?” Benedict asked. “The bar, Shane’s place…”

Shane compressed his lips, willing himself not to give way to the emotions

flooding him as he waited for the answer.

“The structure’s sound, she tells me. The flames traveled from the exterior door

and into the bar, following the line of fuel Marco put down. He didn’t have time to do

more than that, but he did splash accelerant on the walls. The fire trucks arrived in time

to save the building, and although there’s considerable smoke and water damage, it’s

not as bad as it could be.” Ellis smiled at them. “I hope you’ll be open again soon. I

dropped by one night to see what you’d done with the place, and I was impressed.”

“You came by? Why?” Shane demanded, suspicion replacing relief. “We don’t let

people do drugs, and I’ve told you cops that a dozen times. If you’re going to keep

hassling us—”

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239

“Relax,” Ellis told him and got to his feet. “I’m just an overprotective father; that’s

all.” He offered his hand to Benedict, who’d also risen. “My daughter says you do a

good lunch menu. She’s fond of your chicken salad sandwiches.”

“She’s a regular?” Shane frowned, searching his memory. “Chicken salad…Wait,

you’re Jackie’s dad?” He looked up at Benedict. “She runs that beauty salon at the end

of the road. We do a takeout order for her and her staff most days. Nice girl. Keeps

trying to make me come in for a mani-pedi, God alone knows why. She didn’t say her

dad was a cop, though.”

“It’s not a legal requirement,” Ellis said drily. “She keeps it quiet.” He pursed his

lips, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I don’t know why, but it makes some people

nervous.”

“You make me less nervous than the thought of a mani-pedi,” Shane told him.

Ellis smiled and held out a business card, which Benedict took. “Here’s my card.

Call me if you think of anything else, or if you have any questions. Let me know how

things go.”

“Thanks,” Benedict said, sounding grateful. “We appreciate your help.”

“Just doing our jobs,” Ellis said. He gestured for Denton to leave. “Good luck.”

Benedict leaned against the door for a few seconds after he shut it. He looked

almost as tired as Shane felt. “God, what a relief.”

“What, that the cops don’t blame us for what happened just because we’re gay?”

Shane asked.