Scratch the Surface

“And Shawn gets the credit for bringing it to light,” Jeremiah insisted. “He’s the hero who took the drive so it didn’t burn up in the fire.”

“You realize that to get this he had to be sleeping with Dan Nieman, who was a very rich, very shady lawyer? And married with kids.”

Jeremiah shrugged.

“This is why he’s been less than forthcoming this whole time.” Aguilar was irritated; it was there in his voice. “He didn’t want that part coming out.”

“Yeah, but now, because of Shawn, you guys can charge Tremaine when you find him, so really, he’s a hero, right?”

“I wouldn’t say hero. He’s a klepto who just happened to grab something important.”

“Will he be released from protective custody now?”

“Hell no. He’ll have to testify to where and when he swiped the drive. I see WITSEC in his future, and I for one can’t wait to hand him off to the marshals.”

“Give him a break, Detective. He’s a good guy; he just needs a redo.”

“Fine,” he agreed, sighing deeply. “But you and Mr. Gallagher are gonna be heroes too. This is a huge story.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Please, just leave us out of it. I mean, all we did was check a coat pocket.”

“So he borrowed your jacket?” He asked, leaning back, looking up up at Jeremiah.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t check the pockets when you got it back?” He seemed confused as he regarded my boyfriend, like that made no sense. I was glad not to be the only one.

“No.”

“Who doesn’t check their pockets?”

I threw up my hands in agreement, feeling vindicated.

Aguilar glanced up at me. “What the hell?”

“Oh, I agree,” I stressed, shooting Jeremiah a pointed look.

“You know,” Jeremiah began, purposely ignoring me, “you’re just lucky I had no hangers. That jacket was in my dresser in the bathroom.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Aguilar chimed in.

Jeremiah groaned.

“What the hell was your dresser doing in the bathroom?” Aguilar wanted to know, brows furrowed. “The fuck is that about?”

“Speaking of which,” I took that moment to inquire, “you know that’s weird, don’t you?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Listen, if you think about it logically, it makes sense.”

Aguilar crossed his arms. “It does not, it’s stupid, but you g’head and try and make a case. We’ll hear you out.”

It was nice to have police backup.

15

Jeremiah

The drive from our new apartment to his house in Pacifica was fun. It turned out Cameron and I road-tripped well together. We liked the same music, though we didn’t listen to any, talking the whole way instead. One of the main topics was his SUV. He pointed out how comfortable it was and how well it drove, and wasn’t it nice that when it rained when we neared his house that we didn’t get wet? It was so much better than say, a motorcycle.

“You’re not subtle, you know.”

“I wasn’t trying for subtlety,” he assured me.

When we got to his house, I felt a flutter of excitement, or maybe it was nerves, or both. It was hard to say, because this…this was something I’d never experienced before, and if I was being honest, thought I never would. Cam and I meshed, what I liked, what he liked, we complemented each other well even in such a short time.

He directed me to the bedroom, and I went and put my duffel on the bed, then took a slow walk through the rest of the house. Looking at his home, which he’d decorated himself, I was having some concerns about the obvious concessions he’d made for me in our apartment. I returned to his sparsely furnished living room when I was done and took a seat on the hardest couch I’d ever had the misfortune to sit on.

“Okay,” I murmured after a moment. From a décor perspective, we were on very different pages. Clean and organized I understood, because everything in our kitchen cupboards was in plastic containers with handwritten expiration dates, and that was fine. I had no issue with that. It was what he liked, what he needed to have control in his space. But a house devoid of any warmth or color, other than various shades of gray, was a shock. “We need to talk.”

His brows lifted. “Already? You just got here and we need to have a talk?”

I smiled at him. “Yeah. About your place.”

He glanced around the living room. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but, I dunno, I thought I knew what you liked. Seeing your place, though, I guess I didn’t know at all.”

“No, that’s not true,” he countered. “The things we chose together I really like.”

“Do you? Honestly?” I winced as I glanced around before refocusing on him. “Because right now, I feel bad that you let me make all the decisions.”

“I didn’t, though.” He bit his bottom lip. “I sort of steered you where I wanted you to go.”