Double Indemnity by Maggie Kavanagh Page A

last aftershocks. The bad porno move made Sam sigh and wonder what the fuck he was doing. He wiped his face off with the back of his hand.
    â€œDamn,” said the other. “That was so fucking hot.”
    â€œBest anniversary ever,” said Anchor Tatt, giving his lover a long, open-mouthed kiss.
    Sam watched them in a daze, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else. He was a fucking anniversary present—literally.
    â€œHow long have you two been together?” he asked as he groped for his underwear, more out of the need to break the awkward silence than any real curiosity.
    â€œFive years,” said Anchor Tatt. “We met in the navy.”
    So that explained the tattoo. “How nice,” Sam said lamely. He found his clothes and quickly dressed, his back to the bed. When he turned around, both men were watching him with their arms wrapped loosely around each other.
    â€œAre you sure we can’t convince you to stay for another round?” Anchor Tatt asked. He had a pretty smile, and he bestowed it on Sam with interest.
    Sam shook his head. He was going to be feeling that thick cock in his ass for days. “I’ve gotta head out. But thanks, I had a great time.”
    â€œWell, you’ve got our number. Call us the next time you’re in town.”
    â€œSure thing.”
    Outside in the wee hours of the night, Sam walked quickly toward Houston to catch a cab back to the station. His mouth tasted like yesterday’s garbage. He could already imagine the look Yuri would give him if he showed up to work like this, hung-over and stinking like sex. A quick trip home first was definitely in order. He pulled out his cell to check the time and noted a couple of missed calls, both from a number he didn’t recognize with a Stonebridge area code.
    There was one voice mail, and Sam listened to it on the ride to Grand Central. His heart started pounding as soon as he recognized the voice.
    â€œHi, Sam, this is Nathan Walker calling. I was wondering if you had any free time. If you’d like to talk. Or rather, I’d like to talk to you, if you have some time. Call me back.”
    He had to replay the message twice more just to make sense of it. At first, his tired, semidrunk neurons couldn’t process what Nathan meant, but then he remembered telling Nathan to call if he wanted to talk. Nathan had said he would, but after two months of radio silence, Sam had almost forgotten the initial offer. Now, out of nowhere, Nathan wanted his help.
    The idea appealed for reasons Sam tamped down. He’d call Walker back at a reasonable hour and see what he wanted. If he could offer help, he would. Nothing more to it.

Chapter 8

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    S AM THOUGHT about calling Nathan for days before he finally did. The remembered awkwardness of their last encounter made dialing the number a daunting prospect. But the guy had sounded ragged around the edges on his message—not much different than he had right after the murder. No new information had come to light about Emma’s death. In the few times Sam had gone to the station to ask around, he’d been given the typical “this case is still open” brush-off. Either they had no leads, or the police were still gathering evidence and biding their time.
    Even though weeks had passed since he’d seen Nathan, nervous adrenaline kicked in once Sam hit send and the phone started ringing. There was no formal greeting or hello. Instead Nathan launched right in over the din of background noise.
    â€œYou called back. I wasn’t sure you would.”
    â€œSorry it took me so long.” He flushed as he thought about what he’d been doing when Nathan originally left the message.
    â€œIt’s all right. I’m glad you did.”
    A car honked in the background. It sounded like Nathan was out of town. Stonebridge didn’t bustle anymore.
    â€œIt’s nothing. So what’s up? How are you?”
    â€œOh, not great.