Bad Idea: Stonewall Investigations - Miami Page 5

  Those fantasies would be saved for later, for the shower. I’d handle business and watch as my thoughts of Jonah naked and writhing went away down the shower drain.

  “All right,” I said, looking from Jonah before my mind painted a picture of his sexy lips making a trail down my chest with kisses. “Okay.” I glanced at my watch, finding it hard to focus on anything else but Jonah.

  He’s straight. He’s got a girlfriend. He’s a new employee.

  He’s off-limits.

  “I’ve got a case I’m working on right now that I could use your help on. It’s a big one, and I can tell that you and I would work really well together, so I want to bring you on it. What do you say?”

  I opened a side drawer and pulled out a heavy black binder. On the cover, written in a bold white marker: Dragon Case.

  “Partners?”

  Jonah looked at me, a smile on his face that might as well have been answer enough. He leaned forward and grabbed the binder, setting it on his lap and opening it.

  “I agree,” Jonah said, already skimming over the first page while he spoke. “I think we’d make a great pair.”

  “Good.” I looked away, hiding the growing smile. I felt absurd. Why the fuck was I so happy? It wasn’t like Jonah told me I was winning. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “So a drug case?” Jonah said, after going through the binder. “Dragon?”

  “Yeah, it’s bad and it’s getting worse.” I took the binder back, set it on the desk. “I’ll make copies of all this and give it to you. But you probably got the gist of it: the owners of Club Trinity want this stopped before it decimates the gay community and spreads out even further. DEA is about to shut the entire club down, but the owner, Dylan, he’s got connections everywhere. He was able to pull some strings and keep things running for now, but he’s hoping we can stop the source of this shit before more lives are lost and his entire livelihood is thrown away in the process.”

  “Shit,” Jonah said. “So it hasn’t spread, then? It’s mostly concentrated here in Club Trinity.”

  “Seems to be. There are a few isolated incidents I’ve picked up on, but nothing further than a fifteen-mile radius from the club. It’s bad. This shit is fucking kids up, mainly gay kids. And when they aren’t OD’ing, they’re apparently experiencing a massive and addictive high.”

  “And you think this guy, Castel Rico, is behind it? The head of the North Tarantinos cartel?” He was referring to one of the last pages in the binder. I had watched him skim over it, but I didn’t realize just how much detail Jonah had retained for the short time he had with my notes and findings.

  “He’s on the top of the list.” I opened the drawer again, the space already filling up with files and binders even though I’d only been in this office for less than a month. “Here, check this out.” I pulled out my dark green folder, the one holding everything I had on the North Tarantinos cartel.

  I had pretty much memorized everything that was in the folder: surveillance footage of a drug trade with men wearing the North Tarantino colors, a bag of small, circular green pills being swapped between them. It was taken four blocks away from Club Trinity, and then the same man was seen in line to enter Club Trinity that night. There were photos of another drug trade, the same pills being swapped with different men involved, still wearing the same shade of browns and blacks.

  “It does seem like NoTas could be the source of this…” Jonah sounded apprehensive to me. He shifted in his seat, cracked his knuckles, then handed back the folder. He chewed on his lip

  —something I wouldn’t mind doing to him.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked point-blank.

  “How did you…”

  “You wear your thinking face like I wear my favorite jock.”

  Jonah snorted at that. “And how is that?”

  “Boldly.” I cracked a smile and crossed my arms.

  “Boldly, huh?” Jonah tilted his head. The way the sunlight bounced off his eyes had me hypnotized. “I didn’t even know you were wearing a jockstrap—how can that be boldly?”

  “Wait until I’m off the clock,” I said, chuckling. “Zane put in a strict ‘no jockstrap’ policy during work.”

  “Ah, gotcha.” He was smiling wide, small dimples forming on his cheek. “Zane Holden, he’s the founder, right? I did some research a few days ago. Read all about how Zane and his husband stopped that sick fuck. The Unicorn.”

  Nodding, I let my gaze drift out the window. Outside, I could see the small recreational area we shared with the building next door. It was a well-taken-care-of garden with benches and tables and plenty of shade offering an escape from the heat. “Thank God,” I said. “So many innocent men lost their lives… and then to discover who it really was, fuck. Right under their noses the entire time.”

  “Talk about trust issues.” Jonah shook his head. “I’m not, you know, a serial killer or anything. In case you were wondering. Although now that I’m thinking about it, that could be a serial killer thing to say, but I… well, you know, you…”

  I noticed Jonah getting a little frazzled again. I jumped in, rescuing him. “Don’t worry, Andrew followed up on your references and went through with the background check you had verified. We know you’re good.” I cracked a smile. “Besides, with that baby face of yours, I’d be shocked to find out you even step on cracks because you’re scared of breaking your mama’s back.”

  Jonah paused for a moment before laughing. “I also don’t walk under ladders and cross in front of black cats.”

  “Cross… in front of them? You know it’s when they cross in front of you that the bad luck happens, right?”

  He arched a brow and his lips parted into an O. It was a nice shape. “Oh. Hmm.” His eyes narrowed. “Really?”

  And then I tilted my head. “Wait, are you being serious?”

  Jonah shrugged. “Possibly.” He put up a finger. “Or should I say… ‘purr-sibly’?”

  “You’re something else,” I said, laughing, enjoying the moment. As the seconds ticked on by, I was feeling more and more confident about my decision to not only hire Jonah, but also ask him to help on this drug case. I was quickly discovering that I could also really use Jonah’s company along with his help. There was something about him that made me want to be around him. A light that drew me to him. I couldn’t help but be pulled in by it, although I couldn’t be overwhelmed by it. I knew Jonah would have zero interest in me, at least in the way I was interested in him, and that was fine, totally fine. Completely fucking fine.

  It was fine, all right? Fine.

  Friend zoned from the moment we shook hands.

  Jonah put a hand behind his head, sitting in a way that made him appear extremely comfortable. “Besides, no one ever asks about the cat. Have you thought about that? Maybe if a human crosses a black cat’s path, then that cat is struck with years of bad luck, and then what? You’ll feel like an asshole, that’s what. No one wants to give a cat bad luck—that’s just being a shitty human.”

  I couldn’t help the silly grin on my face. Jonah was funny and charming and layered and attractive as fuck.

  And also straight.

  Which was a huge bummer. The chemistry he and I had was apparent from the jump. I’d never felt like this with anyone, not with my hookups or my past relationships, all of them having lasted about the length of Jonah’s interview. None of those guys had ever made me as intrigued and entertained as Jonah had in the very short amount of time I’d known him.

  “Do you have any pets?” Jonah asked, his eyes searching mine. I appreciated how he was comfortable enough to ask me questions, even if they had nothing to do with Stonewall or the job. Hell, he could ask me how the rain cycle works in its entirety and I would have pulled up Wikipedia, wrote up an essay, and read it to him right there and then.

  Odd, yes, but also proof that Jonah had me more than intrigued.

  “No, no pets. My family, eh… we were never a pet family.”

  Or a
functioning family. But that’s a story for another day.

  Jonah nodded, his eyes still on mine. “Fair enough. My family was kind of the same way, but when I moved out and went to college, I started raising geckos I had inherited from a roommate who up and vanished one day. Apparently he went back home to Rome and never came back, but he had left his three geckos behind. So I took care of them and fell in love with little scaly reptiles. I’ve got a pet iguana named Chibby, which you’re going to have to meet.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met an iguana before. Well, besides the ones that sometimes end up in my driveway. But those aren’t named Chibby and would most likely whip an eyeball out with their tails if I tried meeting them.”

  “Yeah, don’t bother those. Chibby won’t whip anyone, though.” Jonah paused briefly, smirking. “Me on the other hand…”

  I tilted my head back. Smiled.

  “All right, so back to the case,” Jonah said, clapping and redirecting the conversation, but not before I noticed the slight pink that rushed to his cheeks. “So Castel Rico, he’s the source. But why? Why not just stick to what works? And why start off so small?”

  “Because he wants to be the next El Chapo. There’s not only a bottomless pit of money if he can become the only source of this Dragon shit, but also a kind of fucked-up prestige that comes with being that only source.”

  “How do you know it won’t spread past him? Not like there’s copyright laws with these drugs. What’s stopping anyone else from copying it?”

  “Good question.” Jonah seemed full of them, which was exactly what a detective needed to succeed. A curiosity that rivaled that of the cat Jonah wouldn’t cross. “Dragon is something no one’s seen before. I’ve talked to chemists who have deconstructed the drug and tried recreating it, and no one’s been able to. It’s impossible. Whoever is the head of this thing is the only one who knows how to make it, and I’ve got a feeling they want to keep it that way. At least for now. Being the only supplier makes them a monopoly, and that means money.”

  “And what does it do? This Dragon crap?”

  “It gives you an unnatural high that people have described as getting inches away from the sun. It also has the effects of putting the user inches away from the sun. Apparently, after an hour on Dragon, your skin starts to feel hotter and hotter, until people describe a sensation of burning from the inside out. They tend to pass out by that point and start seizing. If they aren’t taken to a hospital for proper medical attention, then they die. There’ve been ten deaths so far, in the span of two months. It’s only a matter of days before the media picks up on this.”

  Jonah’s jaw dropped, his head moving forward. “So then why would anyone even take this?”

  “The chemist I talked to said that it’s a hundred times more addictive than heroin.”

  “Oh…”

  “And not everyone gets that ‘burning from the inside out’ sensation. But it seems to be the majority of them.”

  Jonah mulled on something. I could see him thinking, the wheels in that sexy little head of his spinning. He grabbed some papers and fingered through them, eyes scanning over them from top to bottom. I couldn’t help but watch him. I used the time that his eyes weren’t on mine to take him in, to memorize his shape. The slight tilt of his nose, the rise of his strong brows, the fullness of his lips, the light shadow of a freshly shaved beard.

  His eyes came back up, causing mine to flit away. “Fox… isn’t this… you know, something meant for the DEA to handle?”

  I arched a brow at that and tensed. “DEA is working on overtime while being understaffed and underpaid. Their solution was to shut down the club indefinitely, which could put Dylan and his family’s business in huge jeopardy, while simultaneously knocking out one of the safe spaces queer people could go and let loose. Closing down Club Trinity would only cause Dragon to spread faster, not slower. Not to mention, there’s an unnecessary war on drugs going on, taking up valuable resources. Meanwhile, an actual lethal issue has snuck right past the battle lines and into home territory. I’ve got to deal with this, Jonah, and the DEA can come in and clean up when I’m done.”

  Jonah straightened in his seat, his eyes filling with the same steely determination that drove me.

  “Then let’s get this Dragon shit off the streets.”

  “Perfect. I’ve got a meeting set up with Dylan Rose—he’s the guy who brought the case to me. He’s an eccentric dude, but I think you’ll like him. Along with his two husbands.”

  “Two?”

  “Well, I guess they aren’t technically both married to him, but they still like to use that term.”

  “Cool, when’s the meeting?”

  I looked down at my watch again. “In an hour.”

  “Oh, oh shit… okay. Let’s do this, then.”

  “You ready? If you want a few days—”

  “No, no. I’m good. I’m ready.”

  I smiled, feeling really damn good about Jonah Brightly. “Thanks for jumping on this case with me right out of the gate, I really appreciate it.”

  Jonah’s expressive eyes opened wide. “Are you kidding me, man? Thank you for hiring me and letting me work with you. I’m not going to let you down. I won’t let Stonewall down.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I know you won’t. That’s why I want you on this drug case with me. It’s… well, let’s just say it hits kind of close to home.”

  I didn’t feel like going into my fucked-up family history at the moment since, one, it felt like a bit of a mood dampener even though we were talking about a potential drug outbreak, and two, I was in no way, shape, or form ready to open myself up like that. I hadn’t talked about my mom in…fuck, it had been a while. And I wasn’t about to open up that can of baggage on Jonah’s first day.

  Or ever. I had decided to myself, after opening up once before, that no one was really worth opening up to like that again.

  Absolutely fucking no one.

  6 Jonah Brightly

  Star Island, an eclectic Miami paradise in the center of the city, where the homes of the rich and famous looked out over the bay from their massive backyards, boats docked to their own private piers. The streets were lined with regal-looking palm trees and trimmed, emerald-green hedges. Stones that looked handpicked and hand-washed made up borders that trailed up expansive pathways that led to the multimillion-dollar homes.

  There were also gates. A whole lot of gates. And for good reason, seeing as how Star Island was exactly that: an island. And it was floating in the center of one of America’s biggest cities, with a matching crime rate. I worked the beat, I knew the kind of crap that was out there. I was familiar with it, and so the gates made sense.

  We pulled up to a set of golden gates, spiraled and curved and grand in a way I didn’t know gates could be.

  Fox pulled up and parked on the street, just next to the gate. We got out, the Miami heat stinging my face. It felt like it had been getting hotter and hotter every year, this one being no exception.

  My head was slightly spinning, but I made sure not to show how disoriented I felt by how fast this was all moving. I woke up unemployed and, about six hours later, I was working a massive drug case with the lead detective at Stonewall Investigations.

  Life could be crazy sometimes, that was for sure.

  “All right, so I think their assistant was suppo—” Fox was cut off by the sound of gears working, wheels turning. We turned to see the gate was swinging open, and a man was soon walking through them.

  He was a thin guy, with a head of curly brown hair and a face hidden underneath massive sunglasses, the lenses seemingly made out of pure mirror. For a second, I was scared he was about to accidentally focus a sunbeam at us and fry us like ants.

  Instead of melting us, he came over and shook our hands, introducing himself as Walter Rivas, the assistant who basically managed the lives of these three men.

  He didn’t include that last part in his introduction, but I had a sense of it by
the way he said, “Without me, the guys would be chickens without any heads. And they’re already big enough cocks as it is.”

  He cracked a smile and laughed, insinuating he was joking. But it didn’t really land with me. I prescribed to the belief that there was a little truth in every joke, and Walter’s joke sounded pretty damn truthful.

  “You can leave your car on the sidewalk, I came over here in a golf cart. Come on and hop in. I’ll take you two to see Dylan.”

  We followed Walter to the golf cart. I was looking around, admiring the flowers that were growing on the edge of the road. We hopped into the cart, Fox taking the seat next to Walter while I jumped in the back. I held on to the side as he stepped on the gas and started us down the driveway. It wasn’t a long route, but Walter drove around the fountain and past the three peacocks, through an ivy-covered wooden tunnel, and out into the backyard, which was half yard and half Miami bay. He parked the cart next to a towering stone statue of a lion, standing on hind legs with its life-size jaw gaping open. There was loud dance music pumping from invisible speakers, the kind that is really only bearable when some kind of drug is involved.

  The music lowered. “Guests!” The voice came from the pool. It had those infinity edges, raised so that it looked out over the bay. We walked over the plush green grass and over to the pool where two men were treading water, one holding the other, kissing playfully. Another man, the one who had spotted us, swam over to the edge of the pool, looking up at us.

  “Hey there, Dylan.” Fox crouched down and offered a hand to shake. I followed suit, shaking the man’s wet hand.

  “And who’s this handsome slab of man meat?”

  “Relax, Mr. Rose.” Fox shot him a look. “This is Jonah Brightly. He’s a new detective at Stonewall and is going to be working the Dragon case with me.”

  “Well, it’s great to meet you, Mr. Brightly.” Dylan gave me a wink and swirled around, splashing some water onto the bright white concrete floor. Fox and I stood back up. “Boys! Come say hello to the men who are going to save our lives!”