Forest turned to stare out of the Amp’s remaining picture window. Connor stood there, in the damp foggy afternoon, looking like a handful of sex and want dressed all in black and a leather jacket so buttery smooth Forest could still feel it against his skin. He barely heard Jules get up or felt when she patted his arm, but suddenly he was alone with the man he’d lusted over since the first day Lt. Connor Morgan came in to order a cup of coffee.
He took a step toward the black-haired Irish cop, unsure if he was going to punch the shit out of him or steal a kiss so fiercely deep, it would get him punched in return. The phone call had only whetted his appetite, and he still smarted a bit under his skin from the back and forth of his emotions. There was too much going on—too many pieces and parts left up in the air from Frank’s death and then the attack on the coffee shop. He was drowning, and for some reason, Connor Morgan’d thrown him a lifeline.
Raising his hand to say hello, Forest took another step toward the front door. Then the walls came tumbling in, and any thought Forest might have had about stealing a kiss was lost under a tidal wave of bricks and pain.
A FEW cups of coffee, some hastily gulped down food, and Connor was back on the road. He’d had a short conversation with himself—very short—about texting Forest to tell him he wouldn’t be there.
It was a very short conversation.
He didn’t even bother to answer himself.
The parking lot behind the Amp was mostly empty, a few cars parked in defiance of a sign announcing the space as solely being for customers of a now blown-out coffee shop. As if by some unspoken suspicion, the spot where Frank’s RV once stood remained wide open, the black smear marks on a nearby concrete slab nearly washed away by the bay’s intermittent rains.
Connor stared at the blackened lines, wondering how Forest could stand waking up every morning to a view of his father’s murder scene. Hell, he still felt guilty about finding the man, even though Frank Marshall was long dead before Con hit the RV’s front door.
“Fuck of a lot stronger than me, Ackerman.” Shaking his head, he got out of the Hummer and keyed the alarm.
An icy wind sliced up the street, cutting through the neighborhood with a howling vengeance. Even with his jacket on, Connor felt its bite. Then he turned the corner and found the man he’d come to see sitting down with a cup of coffee in his hands, his lips turned up in an enigmatic smile but the faint hint of laughter touching his soulful eyes.
Something hit him, grabbed him in the chest and stomach, then twisted Connor around. Seeing Forest lightened the press of darkness he’d not realized he’d been carrying, and the dread of walking up to his father—the fear of not being the man he’d thought he wanted to be—lifted away, leaving behind an effervescence he could feel in his heart.
“Shite,” Connor slurred the word, feeling it roll around on his tongue. “I’m in love with a man.”
Forest spotted him, and the smile tugging at the man’s mouth became broader and solely his. Connor grinned back and, out of the corner of his eye, caught an odd movement—a red-and-black blur where one shouldn’t have been.
The van hit the front of the Amp, slamming through its remaining window and plowing into the dining area. The brilliant spark of light shimmering in Connor’s chest burst, and a foul sickness bloomed up into his throat. Around him there was screaming, something harsh and wild coming from a feral animal, and his ears rang with the horror in its cries.
He took a step toward the building and realized the screaming was his and his alone.
There wasn’t a question about who to go to first. He was in the building, climbing through rubble before his throat realized he’d screamed it raw and bloody. Glass shards and steel ribbons blocked his way, and Connor caught something on his temple, a heavy chunk of debris cutting him deep enough for blood to drip into his eyes. He tumbled forward, smearing the blood with a swipe of his hand, and spotted Jules moving sluggishly a few feet away.
Her cast was busted open, exposing the metal pins piercing through her arm, but for the most part, she seemed fine. Blinking at Connor, Jules tried clearing her throat, spitting out a mouthful of dust, but only a squeak came out when she spoke. The panic in her eyes was enough to spur Connor into action, especially when he realized Forest was nowhere to be seen.
“Get out if you can walk,” he shouted at Jules. Nodding, she struggled to get to her feet. Using a chair to brace herself, the woman toddled out of the building’s damaged front, stepping carefully through the trickle of debris still coming down from the broken wall.