February Book of the Month: Old Sins by Charlie Cochrane

Summary:
Detective Chief Inspector Robin Bright and his partner, deputy headteacher Adam Matthews, have just consigned their summer holiday to the photo album. It’s time to get back to the daily grind, and the biggest problem they’re expecting to face: their wedding plans. Then fate strikes—literally—with a bang.

Someone letting loose shots on the common, a murder designed to look like a suicide, and the return of a teacher who made Robin’s childhood hell all conspire to turn this into one of his trickiest cases yet.

Especially when somebody might be targeting their Newfoundland, Campbell. Robin is used to his and Adam’s lives being in danger, but this takes the—dog—biscuit.

NOTE: This title contains references to abuse and self-harm. 

As Robrin Bright and Adam Matthews prepare to return to work after a much needed summer holiday, their hopes that it will be a low key transition back to the daily grind are dashed when a shot disrupts their Sunday morning walk with Campbell.  Throw in a murder made to look like suicide, a decades old death, and a face from Robin's past and the couple find themselves longing for another holiday.

HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!  I've said it before and I'll say it again, there is just something about a British written mystery that far surpasses any other.  Perhaps its the blend of humor and murder with the added layer of love and friendship that make the macabre stand out above the rest.  But whatever it is, Charlie Cochrane is one of the best when it comes to mixing murder, love, and humor.

I don't know what more I can say about the characters that I haven't already touched on with the other entries in the series other than Adam and Robin continue to delight, both in work and play, with each other as well as co-workers and friends.  I can't forget about Campbell, a big bear of a dog but he is so much more to the couple and with this case we get to see just how much of a whole he would leave behind for the pair.  I should mention that if you are looking for on page sexy times you may find yourself a little disappointed but don't think that means there is no chemistry between the pair or that the love is ever lacking because there is never any doubt what Adam and Robin feel for each other or the heat that is always surrounding them.

I won't touch on the mystery because I just refuse to give anything away but I will say that with Old Sins the author shows how cases of old never really leave, solved or not as the saying goes "Revenge is a dish best served cold".  Lets just say Robin has his work cut out for him this time.  I also want to say how I absolutely love the fact that the author doesn't use a too often used trope of cops'-partner-doing-amateur-sleuthing-causes-relationship-drama, in Old Sins Robin actually encourages Adam's help which I found to be incredibly endearing for the couple and even more incredibly grateful as a reader.  The trust Charlie Cochrane has created between the pair was much appreciated.

Robin, Adam, and the Lindenshaw Mysteries may not quite even up to the author's Cambridge Fellows Mysteries with Jonty and Orlando for me but its a pretty close race and I wouldn't want to place a bet between them.  Whether or not you love Lindenshaw Mysteries as much as I do really doesn't matter but if you love a well thought out, intriguingly written, and completely edge-of-your-seat who-done-it, than Old Sins is for you.

If you're wondering if you need to read Lindenshaw in order, my personal recommendation is yes because of the evolution of Adam and Robin's relationship but as each installment is a separate mystery than no, I guess you can start anywhere.  The little details and some of the personal conversations flow better having read the series in order but you won't by any means be lost if you haven't read the first three entries prior.

RATING: 

Chapter One
Adam Matthews yawned, stretched, and wriggled back down into the bed. If he’d been able to purr, he’d have sounded like a contented moggy, which would have annoyed his dog but summed up his feelings perfectly. Summer holidays, having the best part of six weeks without pupils to teach: bliss. Even if reality meant he still had lesson planning and the like to do, he didn’t mind. Not having to listen to the constant drone of ten-year-olds meant he could let his brain go through its annual recovery process. His partner, Robin Bright, was enjoying his fortnight or so of holiday as well, although in his case the break was from chasing villains and listening to the prattle of his constables.

They’d had ten days in a villa on the Med, enjoying sea, sand, Sangria, Spanish food, and a smattering of the pleasures of the double bed. Now they were home, with a few more days to make the most of before Robin had to report back for duty. The house was neat as a new pin, Sandra—the miracle worker who came into their house daily to clean, wash, iron, care for Campbell’s needs, and sometimes provide cake—having been in to keep everything in order, garden included.

So they’d nothing planned other than being lazy and making it up to Campbell for their cruelty in abandoning him into the care of Adam’s mother. Despite the fact that he’d been spoiled rotten, the dog would take a while to forgive his two masters for not taking him with them. A while being, in Campbell’s terms, until he’d had sufficient quantity of treats to compensate for the extreme mental hardship his facial expressions would suggest he’d undergone.

“Are you awake?” a bleary voice sounded at Adam’s side.

“No. I’m fast asleep.”

“Pillock.” Robin turned, laying his right arm over Adam’s stomach. “Am I dreaming it or did you volunteer to cook breakfast today?”

“Yes. It’s my turn.” Which was why Adam had been lying in bed thinking, putting off the inevitable. “Although I can’t do so unless you let go of me.”

“Shame.” Robin kissed Adam’s shoulder. “I need to clone you so you can be cooking breakfast and romping about here with me at the same time.”

“If I were a woman, I’d accuse you of being a sexist pig. As it is, I’ll call you a lazy sod.” Adam threw off Robin’s arm, rolled him over, and slapped his backside. “Don’t lie here too long or I’ll give all your bacon to Campbell.”

“I’d fight him for it.”

They both got out of bed, Adam heading to the bathroom for a quick relieving visit before his partner got in there. On a work day, Robin showered and shaved speedily, but on occasions like this when he had the opportunity to take his leisure, he enjoyed lingering over his ablutions. And why not? He worked hard, so he should have the chance to enjoy life’s simple pleasures. As long as he didn’t linger too much and risk being presented with an incinerated sausage.

When Adam got down to the kitchen, Campbell greeted him with a rub against his legs, followed by a dash for the kitchen door. Lie-ins were great for the workers in the household, but not helpful for canine bladders. Opening that door took precedence over everything else first thing in the morning. Once that was done, Adam could get the kettle on, fish out the bacon—always best done while Campbell was otherwise occupied—put on some music, and potter about the kitchen content in the knowledge that the two creatures he loved best were happy. And long might that state of affairs continue.

Over breakfast, talk turned—inevitably—to their imminent return to work, although Robin insisted that shouldn’t be discussed for at least another twenty-four hours. He’d even banned them from watching crime shows over the holiday period, so as not to remind him of what awaited at Abbotston station.

Adam changed the subject to their regular discussion topic. “Am I allowed to mention work in the context of moving house to somewhere slightly more convenient for commuting?”

Given that both of them had relocated to new jobs since they started living together, the comfortable little cottage in Lindenshaw—that had once belonged to Adam’s grandparents, as had the infant Campbell—wasn’t quite as well located as it had been.

“Campbell says you can mention that all you want.” Robin grinned. “He wants a bigger garden to lumber about in. And he keeps reminding me we can afford it, maintenance and all.”

“That dog should get a job as an estate agent.” Or maybe a registrar. There was also the small matter of a civil partnership to sort out, which they’d decided on earlier in the year but not got any further in terms of planning.

“Mum was asking again,” Robin said when he’d finished the last bit of bacon.

Great minds were clearly thinking alike again. “Asking about what?”

Robin gently tapped Adam’s arm with the back of his hand. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Have we set a date? Will she need her passport? Should she buy a winter hat or a spring one?”

“What did you tell her?”

“That what with the demands of school life and the unpredictable villains of Abbotston, it wasn’t easy to fix a weekend.”

All of which was true, but wouldn’t have mollified Mrs. Bright one bit. “And what did she say in response?”

Robin shrugged. “That she understood the predicament we were in, which I suspect was a lie because she then pointed out that other policemen and teachers manage to tie the knot.”

That was also true, although their case was complicated by having feet in both camps.

The real reason they were making no progress was the simple, prosaic one that they were struggling to sort out what type of do they wanted and who they’d invite. They’d both have preferred something small, discreet, classy, and a guest list limited to their mothers, an aunt or two, and Campbell. But was that going to cause ructions among family and friends? Should they invite their cousins, and how could they not include some of their friends and colleagues? And if they invited only one or two each, whose nose would be put out of joint that they’d not been included?

When they’d sat down to do a theoretical-maximum guest list, they’d given up when it hit one hundred, and had then parked the matter entirely. One day they’d have to start it up again, although at present the real desire they felt for entering into that partnership, the official statement that they were a couple and intended to be until death they did part, kept being destroyed by the stress surrounding making arrangements.

“Let’s not spoil today thinking about it,” Adam said. “We’ll grab our diaries later, and set a date—not for the event, so don’t look so panicked, but for sitting down and deciding what we want to do. Once and for all and no arguments from anyone not already living in this household. Does that work?”

“Yeah. Got to bite the bullet sometime.” Robin grinned. “And I can relate that progress to Mum the next time she rings. She’ll make sure we actually do it and don’t renege at the last moment.”

“Deal.” Adam pushed aside his plate and mug. “Right, let’s not waste the rest of Sunday. What are we going to do with today?”

“The weather forecast is good. We should get some fresh air.”

“Sounds spot on.”

“Where do you fancy getting said air?” Robin asked, en route to putting his dirty crockery in the washing-up bowl. “And I assume we’re taking himself?”

“We wouldn’t dare leave him behind. He’s still not happy about us going away to that villa.”

“He can lump it. He’s on holiday all year round.”

Holiday time or not, Sunday morning was their favourite time to walk the dog, weather and jobs permitting. Campbell could run off some of his energy, Adam and Robin had the chance to talk, and they could all work up a healthy appetite for lunch. Today they were having beef casserole, which Adam had already got out of the freezer to defrost. The Yorkshire puddings needed no such preparation, being able to go from freezer to stomach via a hot oven in a matter of minutes. Accompany that with a beer and follow it with some sport on the telly—what more could a man want?

“What about going somewhere different today?” Robin asked. “There’s the towpath along the old canal. We’ve not been there for ages, and Campbell loves the smells.”

“He loves getting smelly, you mean, which is why we avoid it. Remember last time?” Campbell, being a Newfoundland and thereby convinced that water was his second home, had found the most disgusting stretch of canal to go swimming in. He’d needed hosing down and the car had required a professional valeting to get rid of the stench. “Anyway, isn’t there an event on at Rutherclere Castle?”

Rutherclere was a large stately home, the pride of the county, which was said to house a remarkable—highly eclectic—collection of items which various owners had accumulated, mainly during Victorian times. The route from Lindenshaw to the canal would pass close to the grounds.

“Oh, yeah. The one day a year they deign to open the estate to the public.”

“You old cynic. It was supposed to be a cracking affair last summer. Everyone at school was raving about it. People say the first year wasn’t so great, but they’ve got the hang of it now, maybe?”

“Whatever they’ve done, it’s grown bigger than anyone anticipated. Every special constable in the county’s been drafted in. Please God it’ll only be for traffic duties.” Robin shuddered. “What did you do when you were little and didn’t want something to happen? Go out of the room and turn three times?”

“We were far too civilised to do that, but if performing that action, or anything equally daft, stops you getting called in, it would be worth a go.” Robin had only dealt with one murder case so far this year, which was one too many for all involved. If it was time for another serious crime to come along, the damn thing should wait until he was officially back in the office. “Those specials will have their work cut out with the traffic. Last year they only avoided gridlock by the skin of their teeth. The road near the canal’s a standard rat run, so we’d be better off away from the place.”

“So where can we go to avoid the traffic? All the best walks are over that way.”

“What about Pratt’s Common?” Adam suggested. “That’s nowhere near Rutherclere.”

The common was a large area west of Lindenshaw, much beloved of dog walkers, courting couples, and anybody else who wanted fresh air, space, and some trees to either climb in or indulge in less wholesome activities. Adam hadn’t been there for years, but today seemed the ideal day—with the piercing blue sky, bright sunshine, and likelihood of dry ground beneath the feet—to become reacquainted.

“Ah, hold on.” Robin frowned. “Am I dreaming this, that they have cattle grazing there? Ones with dirty great horns?”

“So I’ve always assumed, which is why I’ve avoided taking himself there, but one of the learning support assistants at the school told me they were taken off and relocated last year.” And if one of that redoubtable group of ladies stated the fact, it had to be true. “Done their job for the environment, whatever that might have been.”

“Probably related to grazing or fertilizing. One end or the other.” Robin chuckled. “Let’s give it a whirl, then. Campbell can run about to his heart’s content.”

*****

The drive over to the common was pleasant enough, especially when the radio kept cutting in with extra travel news bulletins warning locals to avoid the Rutherclere area. The big event must have been proving a bigger attraction than the police had predicted, although apparently it wasn’t simply the volume of traffic causing problems. There had been a three-car shunt on one of the approach roads and rumour of the air ambulance having to be sent in. Adam tried not to feel smug at having made the right decision—pride goeth before fall and all that—although he was grateful when they reached the car park to find it almost empty rather than stocked with people who’d come there to avoid the traffic. There was another parking area on the Lower Chipton side, and if that was equally quiet they’d have the common pretty much to themselves.

This parking area, previously little more than a muddy patch of grass, had been properly surfaced since Adam had last visited, and the space available for vehicles had been expanded. The two cars already present were at either end of the tarmacked area—very British behaviour to be as far distant from other people as possible—so Adam slotted his car slap bang in the middle. As he opened the driver’s door, he caught sight of the distinctive yellow air ambulance flying over, and sent up a silent prayer that nothing else would go wrong at Rutherclere and Robin wouldn’t have to be called in.

Campbell sniffed the air tentatively as they let him out of the back of the car. He would know this wasn’t his usual stomping ground and he’d be naturally wary about what delights or disappointments it would hold in store for him. It didn’t take long for him to decide he liked the place, though, and begin to bounce about enthusiastically. They managed to get the lead on him and would keep it on until they could, quite literally, get the lie of the land, then they’d be able to let him romp where he wanted. He was a well-behaved dog, not one to approach strangers, whether canine or human, and generally he’d not stray outside of shouting distance. Clearly, he believed that part of his role was to keep half an eye on his owners while he let them have a walk.

Once off his lead, he initially walked no farther than a few paces ahead, although as soon as they started throwing his ball for him to fetch, his confidence and need for exploration both grew. Adam and Robin eventually found a fallen tree to perch on, sun warming their backs, where they could repeatedly hoick the ball over the scrubby grass, watch the dog go scrambling after it, then see him return triumphant with his treasure.

Adam shook his head. “Next time I say that Campbell’s an extremely intelligent animal, remind me how he takes such pleasure in performing the same actions time and again.”

“I can never work out if he’s really bright or really thick,” Robin observed. “Or maybe he flips between the two.”

Adam grinned “I’d say he’s good in a crisis. That brings out the best of his limited mental resources. Otherwise he can’t process anything other than food, pat, or favourite toy.”

He’d proved his worth in a crisis at least three times, though—and in two of them he’d probably saved a life. Despite the reputations of Newfoundlands, none of these crises had involved water, but death by gunshot or blunt instrument was as definitive as death by drowning.

“That’s typical of dogs, though, isn’t it?” Robin picked up the ball Campbell had deposited at his feet and lobbed it in the direction they’d come, for variety. “Wow, a ball! That’s my favourite thing. Wow, a biscuit! That’s my favourite thing. Wow! You get the picture.”

“Yeah. And that’s himself to a T. Look at the idiot.”

The Newfoundland had retrieved the ball and was carrying it back in his slobbery jaws like he was carrying the crown jewels. He dropped it in the same place he kept placing it in front of Robin, who’d only just finished wiping dog saliva off his hand from the last time he’d handled the thing.

“He’s a disgusting idiot, to boot.” Adam grabbed the ball, stood up, and ran to the ridge to fling the thing as far as he could and give them a bit of respite from continual throw and fetch. The ground fell away sharply before levelling onto a plain, so the ball would roll farther than on the flat where they were seated. He lobbed the ball, then plonked himself down next to Robin, taking a deep breath of the bracingly pleasant air. “I’d forgotten how nice it is here. Better than that place with the goats.”

“The cells at Abbotston are better than the place with the goats.” While holidaying, they’d gone on an expedition to a supposed beauty spot that had been anything but. They spent the next few minutes reminiscing about how ghastly the experience had been, until they risked depressing themselves. “We’ll come here again. It’s so peace—” A sharp report cut Robin off, and sent rooks and pigeons into the air from the nearby trees.

“What’s that?” Adam jumped up, a sickening tingle flying up his spine.

“A rifle, by the sound of it. Not that I can tell much from gunfire.” Robin scanned from side to side as he got up, then they both broke into a run. “Where’s Campbell?”

“He went off after his ball.” Don’t panic. That shot and Campbell’s nonappearance is a coincidence. “Maybe it’s only somebody shooting rabbits in the woods?”

“If they are, they shouldn’t be doing it so damn close to where the public are. I should have a word.”

“You can take Campbell to help ‘persuade’ them. Where the hell has he—” Adam stopped, sick to the stomach. He had kept his eyes down once they’d got onto the slope, aware of how easy it would be to take a tumble. Now he’d looked up again, the flat western part of the common came into full view and—lying a hundred yards off—a large, black, furry mound. “Campbell?”

Adam sprinted, scared witless. The closer he got, the more the mound resembled an animal, the size of a big dog. One that might be a Newfoundland.

“Hold on.” Robin, voice tight, grabbed his arm. “Let me go and see. It looks like Campbell’s hurt himself.”

“No. It should be me that checks.” Adam slowed his pace, though, eyes drawn to the thick black coat that had to be the Newfoundland’s, surely. And that shot they’d heard could only mean one thing. “He was my dog before he was ours.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Adam could barely control his voice. Whichever bastard had done this, they were going to pay. He knelt down, tears blurring his eyes as he laid his hand on the dog’s flanks. “He’s gone.”

Robin squatted beside him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I . . . It’s so unfair. He wasn’t an old dog. He should have— Oof!” Adam jolted as something heavy smacked into his back, almost going headfirst into the dead dog.

“Not as dead as we thought he was, then.” Robin’s voice was shaky, somewhere between tears and laughter. “Where have you been, boy, scaring us like that?”

Not chasing his ball, given that the thing was nowhere to be seen. Campbell had probably heard the shot and either taken fright or gone to investigate; they’d have to solve that puzzle later, though, there being a more urgent matter to hand. Adam wiped his eyes, then properly examined the corpse. Shock must have deluded him, because this wasn’t even the same breed of dog. This was a Saint Bernard, one that was still warm, and bleeding, so the chances were that the shot they’d heard was the one which had killed it. He’d certainly not been aware of another discharge.

“What happens next?” Adam asked. “This isn’t a case for calling in Grace, is it?” She was Robin’s favourite crime-scene investigator and would no doubt quickly work out—or get somebody else to work out—how long the dog had been dead, what weapon had been used, what he’d had for breakfast, and whether his owners loved him with the passion Campbell’s owners had for him.

Robin, already getting his phone out, replied with, “What happens next is ringing in to report there’s a nutter on the loose with a gun. And we’ll do that while we get back to the car, as quick as we can.”

“Good thinking. Heel, boy.” Adam speedily clipped on Campbell’s lead, ensuring the dog would keep close by. “Nothing we can do for the Saint Bernard, and it’ll upset this lad to hang around a corpse.”

“That’s the least of my worries,” Robin said, picking up the pace.

Adam shivered. Of course. Campbell was a potential target. “Ah, yeah. We don’t want two dead dogs on our hands.”

“I wasn’t just thinking about Campbell. He’s not the only sitting duck out here.”

Adam gulped and broke into a trot, eyes and ears alert for any untoward movement or noise. Arriving at the car park couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Two

Robin got Adam and Campbell into the car, reminding them they weren’t safe yet. They’d have to keep their eyes peeled and be ready to drive off at a moment’s notice. He’d not been able to ring out on the common because of the lack of signal, something all too widespread in this area. There had still been only two other vehicles in the car park when they’d got back there, although one was different. A bright-green Saloon had gone while a people mover had arrived recently, so he advised the owners—as strongly as possible without panicking them and calling on his rank to get the message home—to take their dogs somewhere else for their exercise that morning.

Once that was all done, he called 999; the phone signal was weak but better than the almost nonexistent signal there’d been out on the common.

Thank God he connected with the call handler without the signal fading. He explained exactly what had happened and where, and suggested a suitable response unit was geared up. When asked if there was a remaining risk to life, he answered that he didn’t know. These things could get nasty quickly or just fizzle out.

He then got onto Abbotston station and informed them of what he’d done, so they were aware of the situation first-hand as well as second. He toyed with promising to stay on scene until backup arrived, but self-preservation—or, more properly, preservation of the two most important creatures in his life—overrode that. There was a café with a car park about a mile away, so he suggested that as a place to meet the response car if he was required to. When the sergeant told him to simply enjoy the rest of his holiday, he couldn’t resist pulling rank, insisting that it would make sense his briefing the responding officers as he could give them valuable information. The sergeant relented, although he still made Robin promise to get himself to safety straight away.

Get out, call out, stay out. Good advice to follow in any emergency.

Before they made their escape—which wasn’t too strong a word for it, given how anxious Adam was looking—Robin noted the registration number of an empty Vauxhall Vectra, the only other vehicle in the car park.

The drive to the café seemed interminable, Robin keeping an eye out for anything suspicious and Adam driving with the exaggerated care Robin had seen exercised by drunken drivers. Once they’d pulled into the café car park—delighted to see the place open and so offering the prospect of a big injection of much-needed caffeine—they could at last feel some degree of ease. They’d barely got the drinks ordered when a police car drew up, blues and twos going like mad. Robin toyed with getting out his warrant card and flashing it about among the other customers who were having a good gawp to prove, See? They haven’t come to arrest us.

“Here we go again.” Adam gave him a rueful smile.

“Not my case, this time. I’m just passing it all on. And leaving it to the ones who aren’t on holiday.” It was hard work letting go, though. He’d been in on the start of this—whatever crime it turned out to be—and part of him itched to see it through. Still, he owed it to Adam and Campbell to pass the buck, to make sure that off duty meant exactly that.

He waved at the officers, grabbed his coffee, and went to give them as full a briefing as he could manage. In the hope, naturally, that they wouldn’t notice how shaken up he’d been by the experience.

Once Robin had described the events out on the common, the older of the two attending officers asked, “Do you think the shooter might have been aiming at either of you, sir?”

“Unless his or her aim is useless, I doubt it. We were a good couple of hundred yards away and at the top of a slope.” Sitting—literally—ducks, if they had been the target. That brought a sickening jolt to his stomach. Instances of random gun crime rarely happened in Britain and certainly had never happened around here. He had to believe there was some logical reasoning behind why the dog had been shot.

“It’s probably kids arsing about and they went too far,” the other officer remarked. “Probably from Stanebridge.”

“If kids have started killing dogs, they’d better hope they don’t have me to deal with in the interview room,” Robin snapped. “And less of the digs at Stanebridge. This is no joking matter.”

“Didn’t mean to joke, sir. Sorry.” The constable stared at his feet. “But it could have been kids, couldn’t it?”

“It could, but don’t jump to conclusions.” When would officers all learn to keep an open mind? “Has an armed response unit been called in?”

“They want to have a look at what we’re dealing with first. The helicopter’s been scrambled so we can scan the area.”

Robin instinctively glanced skyward. This sounded a typical Chief Superintendent Cowdrey approach, caution married to action. The boss would never assume that this incident was either trivial or treacherous, until he’d accumulated the necessary information. But, and of this Robin had little doubt, the man would be en route to the station, keeping in touch with all the parties involved until he was sure of the bigger picture.

“Sir?” The younger officer’s voice startled Robin out of his thoughts, and reminded him that this wasn’t his problem. Unless it turned out to be still going on come Tuesday when he returned to work.

“Can you show us roughly where the shooting happened?” The other officer had produced a large-scale map, which he spread on the patrol-car bonnet.

“Hold on. I know the man to consult.” Robin gestured for Adam to come across. “You know the area better than I do. Where would you say the dog was?”

Adam studied the map, placed his index finger on the car park, then traced a line to a location that Robin wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint.

“Roughly there,” Adam said. “I’m going by the contour lines as much as anything, trying to replicate our steps from the car park, so I can’t be one hundred percent sure.”

The officer nodded. “I reckon we might be able to get this thing out there.” He patted the side of the police car, which appeared sturdy enough to tackle any terrain. “I used to play on the common when I was a nipper. My uncle used to take me and my cousin out in a Land Rover, and we’d go all over the area.”

“You’d know where somebody taking pot-shots would hang out, then?” Robin asked him.

“I might have done thirty years ago. We knew all the dodges then.” The officer grinned.

“Still, it probably hasn’t changed that much.”

The younger policeman refolded the map so that only the key bit was showing. “Best get going.”

“I won’t keep you.” If there was an idiot with a gun on the loose, then they needed to be caught quickly. “Best of British luck.”

“Thanks, but I hope we don’t end up needing it.” The officer shook his head, then got back into the car.

Robin watched the police vehicle screech out of the car park, torn between the desire to be in on the chase and staying well out of things. His copper’s nose was telling him that whatever the outcome of the helicopter search, this situation had the capacity to turn nasty.

*****

Home, sweet home—shutting the front door on the rest of the world had never felt so good. Campbell had been a bit whiny on the way home: he must have registered that something hadn’t been right with the other dog, maybe from the smell of blood or the atmosphere of stress emanating from his owners. Campbell might have been daft, but he wasn’t stupid.

Robin had sat in the back with him the entire journey, Adam joking that he always had to play second fiddle to a pooch and that was why Robin wasn’t in the front with him. Adam was clearly worked up though, because twice on the drive home his hands had started to shake on the wheel, no doubt as the realisation of the danger they’d all been in had hit him afresh. Time and again Robin’s mind replayed the sound of the gunshot and the sight of the dog. Who’d been using a gun up there, and why? Given the wide, open nature of the terrain, it was unlikely this had been an attempt to kill a particular target—whether man or beast—gone wrong.

Robin had seen the police chopper pass over and then circle back not long after they’d left the café, but there hadn’t been anything on the local radio news, which they’d listened to all the way, despite the awful Sunday morning choice of music in between the bulletins. The newsreader made a passing mention of the Rutherclere event and probably the locals would have assumed any police activity was connected to that.

Conversation had been scarce, Adam evidently concentrating hard both on driving and on stilling his fears. He’d made the odd comment along the lines of, “Everyone all right in the back there?” but otherwise their usual comfortable buzz of chatter had been curtailed.

Once home—without further incident thank God—Robin rang in to the Abbotston station to get an update. Not solely his idea: Adam had insisted, no sooner had he pulled the car up on their drive, saying he was burning to know who the intended target had been and whether anybody was still at risk. Robin had soothed him, saying it would be far too early to get any clarity on that, although the same questions plagued him too.

He didn’t get much of an answer to them, though, when he got through to the officer on the desk. The helicopter had apparently not spotted anything untoward, although they weren’t declaring the incident over yet. The officers had managed to get out onto the common and yes, there was a large black dead dog there.

Robin felt a ridiculous sense of relief at having that confirmed. Despite the evidence of everyone’s eyes, he’d retained an illogical worry that he’d dreamed the whole episode. Or somehow cocked it all up. A psychologist might have said that was a factor of his childhood making itself known again, the long dormant effect of bullying rearing its head, although Robin preferred to call it typical British anxiety.

“Any idea whose dog it was?” he asked, switching into rozzer mode, the holiday mood dissipating.

“Some chap named Britz over at Lower Chipton. Luckily, the dog had a tag on his collar with a phone number. Or maybe that’s unluckily for the owner,” the sergeant added, ruefully. “I’d hate it if it was my dog.”

“Tell me about it.” Robin could hear Campbell snuffling around—how quickly he’d got used to that background noise and how awful it would feel to be suddenly robbed of it. “I guess it’s better than your pet disappearing, leaving you not knowing what’s happened.”

“Maybe. Anyway, you’re well out of this. Mr. Cowdrey’s got his work cut out explaining to the powers that be why the helicopter’s been called in.”

“I wouldn’t want to be the person grilling him. He’ll fight his corner all right.” And who could blame him for reacting so strongly at the present time? Terrorism wasn’t confined to big cities, so it was no good saying these things didn’t happen here. Unfortunately, they could. “I guess I’ll hear all about it on Tuesday. If there’s anything I can do to help in the interim, let me know.”

“You just enjoy the end of your holiday, sir. We need you back in peak condition and at your brightest.” The sergeant chuckled. “Excuse the pun.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard them all before. See you in a couple of days.”

He ended the call, then headed for the kitchen. “You okay?”

“As well as can be expected, given the circumstances. I’m making lunch.”

Robin broke out some beer to have with it; he also broke out Campbell’s favourite dog biscuits as a treat.

Adam pointed a fork in the general direction of Abbotston. “Do they want you to go in?”

“Nothing for me to do.” Robin gave Campbell a pat. “The helicopter’s still scouring the area, but there’s no sign of anyone with a gun.”

“He—or she, I suppose—would have been long gone. I’m guessing they’d have legged it as soon as they took that poor mutt down. There’s another parking area on the other side of the common, so they might have had a car there, or they could have had a quad bike with them on the common itself, although I don’t remember hearing one.”

“You should be on my team. I like the way your brain works. You’d be too distracting, though.”

“Flatterer.” Adam gently poked him in the stomach with the end of a wooden spoon. “I’m happy to simply share my thinking here. And the other thought I thunk was that there used to be some cottages in the woods when I was a teenager. They could have gone to ground there.”

Robin, who had slipped his phone out with the intention of seeing whether the local media had at last got hold of the story, glanced up at that. “I didn’t know that. Were they occupied?”

“A few. May well still be. One or two were derelict but might be standing. We used to hang around there when I was a teenager.” He poked Robin again with the spoon handle, this time in the shoulder. “And I got up to nothing worse than trying a ciggie and climbing trees, I hasten to add. I was a good boy.”

“Methinks your other dad protests too much,” Robin said, addressing Campbell. “Good point, though. I’ll text in and suggest the team go and check over any ones that are close to where the shots came from. Somebody might be using them for less innocent purposes.”

“Feel free to share my bright ideas. Only make this the last contact from our end. You’re still on holiday, remember?”

“Yes, sah!” As soon as the message was sent, Robin’s stomach started to rumble, the delicious smells from the oven sending the noise level to earthquake.

Adam smiled, wooden spoon still in hand. “I was worried you wouldn’t feel like eating. Seems I’m wrong.”

“I’ve got my appetite back.” Robin cast a glance at Campbell, who was tucking into his lunch. “Looks like himself’s back to normal too.”

Adam chuckled. “I only need to do the Yorkshires, and they won’t take long. I’ll get them on before you leap in his bowl and fight him for his nosh.”

“I might too, given how my stomach’s complaining.”

“Be patient, man. Here, while you were on the phone earlier, I saw this on Twitter.” Adam passed over his phone to show where the county police feed baldly stated that their helicopter was attending an incident and asking people to avoid the area.

“Any replies?”

“Only from a couple of people asking why they’re not being given any further information. Usual arsy stuff.”

Robin puffed out his cheeks. “That’s one of the things I hate about social media. Everyone wants to know now. Even if we don’t yet know ourselves, or we’re too busy trying to deal with an incident than tweet about it.”

“Remember that plane crash?” Adam asked.

“All too well.” They’d been about to go out for dinner when news had broken about a plane going down in the Med. Adam had gone mental at the radio presenter who’d grilled some aviation expert for answers and had been unnecessarily unpleasant when he’d kept pointing out—quite reasonably—that there was no point in grounding other planes or having knee-jerk reactions until the cause of the crash was clear.

Adam peered through the oven door. “Right, these Yorkshires are done. No more speculation until after lunch.”

*****

It was after lunch, a beer, and half an hour of kip that they actually got around to discussing the morning’s events again. Robin hadn’t received any further messages and nothing definitive was featuring on either the news or social media yet, so they’d made themselves comfy on the sofa, with Campbell stretched out on the floor like a living rug.

“I hope himself’s asleep and can’t hear what I’m about to ask,” Adam said. “What’s the law on killing dogs?”

“Long story short, if you’re a farmer and a dog’s trespassing on your land, worrying your sheep, you can kill it, preferably in one clean shot. You’d need to prove you were justified in taking the action, though. Long story longer, if you asked your pal to come over and he brought his dog and it starts worrying the sheep, you’ve lost the right.”

“That’s sounds straightforward enough.”

Robin grimaced. “It isn’t. You’re supposed to try to contact the owner first, and only shoot if absolutely necessary. You’re supposed to report it, afterwards, too.”

“And do they? Report it?”

“Not always. If you dispose of the evidence—the corpse—then how would anyone know?” Robin cast Campbell a glance but the hound was still asleep. “If the dog’s a sheepdog, or a guide dog, or any other official working pooch, you can’t shoot them at all.”

“That can’t apply in this case, can it?” Adam absent-mindedly rubbed Robin’s arm. “The common’s not private land, and there are no livestock up there now.”

“Exactly. There’s some act—I’d have to look it up to tell you which one and how it applies in this case—that prevents cruelty to animals. I guess the culprit’s liable to be fined or even imprisoned.”

“Good.”

Robin snickered. “You’d prefer they were hung, drawn, and quartered?”

“Not quite. But I’d hope they’d never be allowed to own a gun again.” Adam took a deep breath. “I can understand a farmer shooting a dog that had got on his land and was attacking sheep. I can understand him wanting to beat up the dog’s owner while he was at it, but what happened this morning’s beyond my comprehension.”

“Same here.” Robin ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “Let’s take the emotion out of it and consider this like any other case. Maybe that particular dog had attacked somebody in the past and said victim was determined to get their own back. Doesn’t ring a bell with any cases I’ve heard of, though.”

“I’ve heard nothing like it on the dog-owning grapevine, either.” Adam’s mother, expert on all local matters of gossip, also had a fund of knowledge concerning other representatives of the canine family. “What if they’d meant to kill the owner and somehow cocked-up?”

“Pfft. It would have to be a right royal cock-up, then. The owner was nowhere in sight. I didn’t see another soul anywhere around before or after we saw the dead dog. Unless the owner could run faster and farther than Usain Bolt, and had managed to get over to the copse of trees, they couldn’t have been anywhere near where we were. You can’t hide in scrub.”

“Unless you lie flat like a commando. The other dog must have been doing something similar, surely, or wouldn’t we have seen him earlier?”

“I guess so. He might have been hunkered down behind one of the bushes.” In which case a human could have been hiding there too. Maybe the shooter themselves.

“Oh God.” Adam, face drained of colour, must have had the same thought.

Saturday's Series Spotlight: Lindenshaw Mysteries Part 1

February Book of the Month(2018): Two Feet Under

  

Author Bio:

As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.

Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.

Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

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CARINA  /  B&N  /  AMAZON  / GOODREADS

EMAIL:  cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com

Old Sins #4

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Release Blitz: Touch of a Yellow Sun by VL Locey

Title: Touch of a Yellow Sun

Author: VL Locey

Series: Colors of Love #2

Genre: M/M Romance

Release Date: February 27, 2019

Cover Design: Designs by Sloan

Summary:
It's been a rough couple of years for Marek Hafer, roaming hockey protagonist and pugilistic expert. Ending up in Berger Lake, Pennsylvania, on a financially unstable minor league team might just be the ending his wretched career deserves. On the other side of thirty, Marek knows his time on skates is dwindling. His goal now is to spend a few quiet years playing for the Berger Lake Badgers, knock a few helmets together as needed, and then call it quits before his salty personality gets him booted out of hockey permanently.

After a bloody encounter his first night on the ice, the Badgers coach suggests that Marek find a way to lower his violent tendencies before he’s sent packing yet again. That decree leads Marek to knock on the door of his next-door neighbor, Shey Pierson, the owner of Sun Touch Yoga Studio. Shey ticks every box Marek has with his soft blue eyes, flowing golden hair, and long limber legs. The only problem is that Shey is yin to Marek’s yang.

Can a man famed for throwing punches find serenity in the arms of a man known for his tranquil ways?

Author Bio:
USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Torchwood and Dr. Who, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a pair of geese, far too many chickens, and two steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in one hand and a steamy romance novel in the other.

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

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Touch of a Yellow Sun #2

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

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Lost in Indigo #1

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Blogger Review: Force of Nature Anthology by RJ Scott

Summary:
Three novels in one anthology from the USA Today Bestselling Author RJ Scott

Seth & Casey
Casey and his class are trapped in the snowstorm of the century. Seth is their only hope.

Alpha, Delta
With storms raging in the Norwegian sea, can Finn and Niall rescue each other?

All The Kings Men
After an earthquake destroys LA, will Ryan and Nathan outrun the forest fires?

Seth & Casey
Re-Read Review February 2019:
I usually save my re-reading for the summer months but considering that we are nearing the end of February, not only February but the snowiest February on record as well as the snowiest month since November 1991 after the Halloween Blizzard that pretty much shut down Wisconsin and Minnesota, I thought what better time to re-visit Seth and Casey?

There isn't much more I can add to my original review other than I'm still conflicting between wanting to bang their heads together and wrap them up in bubblewrap.  When it comes down to it though I have to admit I side with Casey.  I understand Seth's desire to be who he was, to get back to his life as a firefighter but I've seen too many things with my mom's health issues and my grandfather's battle with MS to really sympathize with his refusal to accept that yes his life is never going to be the same but he is still here.  Perhaps had I not grown up watching my mother and grandfather have their lives changed I would be able to support Seth's resistance and I guess we all need to have that "a-ha" moment when everything clicks.  In Seth & Casey, RJ Scott uses Mother Nature's wintery wrath to explore that idea and she does it brilliantly.

I guess what I'm saying is that despite not understanding Seth's denial to face facts I absolutely love, love, love this novella which to me in itself speaks more to the author's storytelling talents than anything.  This is a win-win filled with frosty dangers that only Mother Nature could create, love that may or may not be enough, and the desire to survive.  For those who never experience the kind of snow in this story, count your blessings because the white stuff may look fluffy and conjure up all thoughts of Christmas and magical dancing snowmen but it can be anything but magical and the author's obvious respect for that just makes this story ten times more entertaining.

Original Review January 2018:
When Seth Wild's life as a fireman is at an end due to injury, instead of facing it head on he fights it and in the process he pushes away his rock, his friend, his lover, his husband Casey McQuire.  When Casey walks out hoping Seth will see what he needs to face, he finds himself alone with his nephew and 9 of his students stranded during a blizzard.  Will Seth get to Casey and the kids in time and more importantly will he realize what he's risking with his refusal to accept the inevitable?

💬Reviewer Note: I have never read the previous version of this novella so I cannot comment on the re-editting and how the two versions differ.💬

Now on to Seth & Casey.  Brilliant!  I wish I could leave it at that but you know I'll expand because to be honest I could not put this down. I really just want to say that as a Wisconsinite(and no this is not set in Wisconsin) I absolutely love stories where Mother Nature rears her karmatic head.  Yeah, I know "karmatic" isn't a real word but this is my review so I'm leaving it in😜  For those who have never experienced a true snow storm, I say "good for you because they can be hell on earth", its a prime example of Mother Nature showing her status in the hierarchy of world domination.

So when I find a book where snow is prevalent than I really pay attention to how the author uses it and whether they give it the respect the white stuff deserves.  I don't know how much experience RJ Scott has with snow in the UK but she has clearly done her research and respects its destructive nature.  Distance means nothing in whiteout conditions, you can be two feet away from someone or something and have no clue what direction to travel and the author uses this in this novella in multiple cases and for that alone I say "Thank you."

I've mentioned all that about the weather because its more than just a plot device, it truly is a character all on its own.  As for the main characters of Seth and Casey, well once again I found myself warring between bundling them in bubblewrap and knocking their heads together.  In a short story/novella, especially one that the bulk covers such a short span of time, it can be hard to convey the emotions of the characters, make them believable, and still give the reader an entertaining piece of art.  RJ Scott seems to have mastered the knack of doing just that though.  Would I like to know more about the boys and their life both before and after the pages of this tale? Of course, because for me when a story is this lovely I never want it to end but in truth, I can't imagine Seth & Casey any different than it is and its a no-brainer that this one will definitely be going into my re-read list.

Alpha, Delta
Original Review March 2019:
When Finn Hallan and Niall Faulkner had an instant connection after a conference meeting they knew it was more than just a one night stand but it takes a hostage situation in the middle of Mother Nature's wrath that makes them see how far their feelings have grown.  Will they be able to reveal their feelings or have they left it too late?

I originally purchased this novella long ago and when the author re-released a re-edited version, I purchased that too and yet as much of an RJ Scott fan as I am, somehow Alpha Delta went unread.  Then when I learned she was releasing this as part of an anthology for her weather setting novellas I knew I had to find Alpha and finally read it.  Boy am I glad I did and wondered every minute as I read what took me so long.

💬Now I should mention I only read the re-editted version so I can't speak to the differences in the original and re-release.💬

Finn and Niall are an absolute dream.  I've seen some label them as opposites attract and I guess to some extent they are: elite cop and nerdy engineer but when you look past that I found them to be quite similar and definitely perfect for each other.  And once again, RJ Scott has shown her respect for Mother Nature, this time in the form of storms in the Norwegian sea.

I know for some people the connection between Finn and Niall is too quick but I don't see it that way and as much as Alpha Delta is a romance novella, I found at the core it was about survival and what we are able to make ourselves do to get through impossible situations.  Sure we see Finn and Niall realize what's important when they risk losing it but at its heart, Niall faces certain death in a way he never imagined but he pushes himself to do what he has to and for me that survival instinct is what made Alpha Delta a must read.

All the King's Men

Original Review July 2017:

Reviewer's Side Note: Having never read All the King's Men before I don't know how this re-edited and rewritten version differs from the original. 

Ryan Ortiz wants a second chance with his ex so he hops on a plane bound for LA.  Nathan Richardson's acting career is beginning to bring him happiness and he's moving forward from his ex even if he hasn't really moved on.  An Act of God in the form of the biggest earthquake to hit the west coast has occurred but will Fate let Ryan not only save his lover but reunite them in the aftermath?

How in the world have I not read this work of art by one of my favorite author's before now?  Growing up in Wisconsin where tornadoes and blizzards could occur just months apart, I never really enjoyed disaster films and certainly did not enjoy reading Act of God/Mother Nature Strikes Back scenarios but as I got older(hey, I'm only 43 so lets say "matured" it sounds younger) I found disaster films to be enjoyable.  However, I never really found any books within that genre/trope that didn't classify as sci-fi that piqued my interest.  Until now!  It's no secret that RJ Scott is one of my favorite authors and that she is also one of only a handful that fall into my "automatic 1-click list" so when I discovered All the King's Men it was a no-brainer that it would grace my Kindle.

I know that Ryan may not be everyone's cup of tea because of the way things ended with Nathan prior to where the book begins but his actions, or lack thereof, did not bother me at all.  As in life, sometimes in fiction one has to lose something or someone to realize how much it or they were needed.  Which is where Ryan finds himself as he travels westward to reunite with Nathan.  I loved his desire to get to Nate especially once he learns about the earthquake.  His determination to reach Nate is inspiring and once he reaches him, he stops at nothing to get him to safety.

Okay, I'm going to stop there as far as the plot goes because I don't want to give anymore away.  I will just say that in a story such as All the King's Men, there isn't always an overabundance of secondary characters so those that the main characters come across have a lot riding on them that can really test the author's talent for character development and storytelling.  Well, RJ Scott has proven once again how amazing she is with these aspects of drama and even though its not a situation that happens every day its certainly something that could happen which only heightens the fear and got my adrenaline pumping with every page.  To be completely honest, it made me even more thankful that I live in a region that only faces the destructive forces of tornadoes and blizzards(something I never thought I'd say so thank you, RJ 😉) because earthquakes are not a common occurrence here in Wisconsin.  King's Men may not make my yearly re-read list but I will definitely be re-visiting Ryan and Nate more than once.

RATING:

Seth & Casey

Summary:

Seth Wild is a firefighter who has lost everything. Nearly dying in a fire, he is scared and angry and chases away the only good thing in his life—school teacher Casey McGuire.

When a sudden and violent snow storm hits their town he receives a message Casey and ten kids are trapped in an education centre center with no way out. There is no one else who can help, he’s the last fire fighter in town with his bum leg and his icy heart.

He doesn’t hesitate. He always promised he would be Casey’s hero, but will he ever again be Casey’s love?

Alpha, Delta 

Summary: 

Officer Finn Hallan has never run from a fight. With Niall’s life and love at stake, he’s not about to start now.

N.B. Originally published with All Romance, this edition features the same story with new cover art

Finn Hallan is a member of the elite Norwegian Emergency Response Unit, code name Delta. When the team is sent to respond to a hostage situation on an Oil Platform, he has to face demons he thought he had buried a long time ago.

Scottish engineer Niall Faulkner’s skills in oil platform decommissioning takes him to the Forseti platform at the worst possible time. When he’s captured by terrorists, his only thought is that he will never get to tell his lover how he really feels.

Can Finn keep Niall alive? Or will they both die at the hands of hijackers in the frigid waters of the Norwegian sea?

All the King's Men 

Summary: 

Originally published in 2011. Re-edited and rewritten with added chapters and amended epilogue.

* * * * *

When Ryan Ortiz decides to go direct to LA to fight for a second chance with his lover Nathan Richardson he is caught up in the biggest earthquake to hit the city since records began.

LA is destroyed, burning, people homeless, and fires are ignited high in the LA hills above Nathan's apartment. Nathan is trapped and Ryan is his only hope.

It is a race against time and the powerful all consuming destruction of nature for Ryan to find Nathan, trapped in the ruins of his home in the hills, and to get both of them to help before the fire reaches them.

Seth & Casey
“…New York's LaGuardia and JFK International airports officially closed on Thursday afternoon due to the storm, according to the FAA. Both airports had been open earlier despite significant flight cancellations. LaGuardia resumed operations around 7 p.m. ET, while JFK said it planned to reopen sometime during the course of the night.”

Casey McGuire rinsed the last of the mugs and placed it on the drainer with the rest. For some reason, it was always mugs they ran out of in this house. Seth had this idea that the dishwasher ate them but Casey was convinced that they just needed a system to make sure they brought all the mugs back to the kitchen when they were done. Last week he’d found a mug in the bathroom, inside the cabinet, full of cold coffee.

Seth had sworn it wasn’t him, but Casey knew it had been.

He didn’t make a fuss. After all, what was one full coffee mug teetering on the edge of a glass shelf? In the grand scheme of things, it meant nothing.

The TV droned on behind him as he took a dishcloth and wiped the first of the mugs.

“…states from South Carolina to Maine are under a winter storm warning and the governors of Georgia, North Carolina, Virginia, New Jersey and New York have declared states of emergency. Forecasters say the northeast states can expect hurricane-force wind gusts and blinding snow…”

The news channels had been warning about this storm for a week, a huge dump of snow that would cripple the eastern seaboard, but that as yet hadn’t caused much concern here in Vermont. Casey glanced out of the window at the yard and wished for more snow. That way maybe Seth wouldn’t be able to leave the house, and possibly the two of them could have a rational conversation that didn’t end with Seth leaving and Casey wondering where the hell he was going wrong.

“…the situation is “ugly” and “dangerous,” and people should stay indoors…”

Last night, all Casey had said was that Seth shouldn’t forget about his appointment next morning. Seth left the house, clambering back into bed at some ungodly hour, reeking of beer or worse. In his sleep, Seth tried to pull Casey close, but Casey had deliberately scooted up and away, and left his husband in the bed.

Today, at ten, Seth had exploded, accusing Casey of meddling in things he didn’t understand, telling Casey he was fine and didn’t need a shrink.

Yet another night when one of them ended up on the couch.

“Hey.”

Casey stiffened at Seth’s soft, gravelly voice. His chest was tight, he didn’t want to argue. He wanted Seth to admit there was a problem, because he couldn’t handle it anymore. Six months of this had taken its toll. Maybe if Seth had seen the specialists when he should’ve, maybe if he’d seen a counselor, then Casey would see he was trying.

Seth was in denial, and it was destroying their marriage.

He didn’t turn to face Seth; he’d made a decision in the early morning, packed a bag with what he could get without waking Seth, and decided they needed space. If Seth had space he might face up to himself instead of taking it out on Casey.

Seth slid his hands around Casey’s waist, resting his chin on Casey’s shoulder and sighed. He’d brushed his teeth so the only scent was peppermint, which at least was a step up from yesterday when he’d attempted a clumsy kiss with beer still on his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured near Casey’s ear.

Casey could turn now, accept the apology, even offer one of his own for pushing Seth, and everything would be normal for a while. Seth could go back to pretending he was okay, and Casey could go back to walking on eggshells and avoiding conflict.

But what kind of a marriage was that?

What kind of a man did that make Casey?

“I know you are,” he said. Then he tensed because that wasn’t the answer Seth wanted, and Casey knew what would happen next. Seth would go straight onto defensive mode, give some bullshit about how he was a firefighter and didn’t need a counselor.

Meanwhile, Seth not accepting any of what he needed was tearing their marriage apart. Casey had been careful with him for a long time, after all, Seth had nearly died. But when months had passed and he was still refusing to listen to reason, that was when Casey realized he’d been wrong in accepting Seth’s view on what kind of healing he needed.

“I think we need some time apart,” Casey said, and placed the dried mug onto the counter. He eased away from Seth’s hold and moved to the other side of the kitchen table. Somehow, having it between them gave Casey the strength to do what he’d decided was the right thing. Seth had this way of holding him, with a near desperation that never failed to have Casey crumbling.

Seth didn’t answer at first. Casey stopped himself from repeating the words and hoped that Seth was just thinking. The only noise in the kitchen was the news, focusing on Greyhound buses and the routes being cancelled.

“Why?”

Alpha, Delta
“I don’t really do this.” Niall waved between them.

“Have sex?”

“Have one-night stands.”

Finn stepped in his space again, and this time, with the desk at his back Niall had nowhere to move. Then Finn did something that had Niall near melting into a puddle. The damned cop cradled his face gently.

“Who said anything about one night?” He tilted Niall’s face and leaned down at the same time. With his hands cradling Niall, he kissed him. The kiss was firm but not pushy. There was none of the shit that happened in clubs whenever Ewan managed to drag Niall to one. Seemed like all that happened there was tongues and teeth and a whole lot of demands. This was…

Different.

Finn touched his lips with tongue, pressing inside. With a whimper that Niall hoped to hell was just in his own head, he opened his mouth and tentatively matched the movements. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he leave them at his sides, or could he touch…? He rested them on Finn’s biceps but couldn’t stop with that touch, instead locking his hands at the base of Finn’s spine and pulling him closer. They kissed that way for the longest time, Niall so hard it was painful.

Finn moved one of his hands from Niall’s face and trailed his fingers down Niall’s back, finally coming to a rest on his ass, pressing and lifting so that Finn was near on tiptoe. If they didn’t do something soon, release the pressure, if he couldn’t undo his pants, then he might do serious damage to his cock.

As if he’d somehow telegraphed the message, Finn’s hand moved and this time it was to slip under the top button of Niall’s pants. He lowered the zipper, finally pushing his fingers into Niall’s jersey boxers and closing around Niall’s hard cock. Niall pulled back sharply from the kiss and cursed loudly. All Finn did was chuckle, the bastard, then guide Finn back for more kissing while twisting his fingers and tugging on Niall. Niall could stand like this until he came, held up just with the desk at his thighs and Finn holding him upright, but he wanted his hands on Finn and he wanted it now.

Copying Finn’s movements he loosened the tight buttons on Finn’s jeans and finally managed to get his hands inside Niall’s pants. Just the feel of his hands on Niall was enough to have him deepening the kiss, more frantic in his need to taste Finn. Then Finn released his hold of Niall’s cock but before Niall could complain Finn yanked at Niall’s hand on him, releasing the hold, then lifted him, hands under his ass, and carried him the short distance to the bed.

All the King's Men

Prologue
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again!

* * * * *

California is one of America’s most earthquake-prone states.

The boundary between the massive Pacific and North American tectonic plates, the notorious San Andreas Fault, runs roughly southeast to northwest through much of California. In addition, a jumble of lesser transverse faults clutters the map of the state.

Sides of the San Andreas Fault move in the opposite direction, but at different speeds, causing geologic tension to build. That tension is released in the form of an earthquake. The possibility is always present for associated earthquakes among the nearby transform faults.

The U.S. Geological Survey says the state faces a forty-six percent chance of being hit by a Richter Scale magnitude 7.5 or higher earthquake in the next thirty years.

Possibly even today.

Chapter 1
Thursday 6:52 a.m.
I’m coming to you… Early morning flight to LAX… I don’t want to play phone tag anymore… I just want to see you face to face and talk… I miss you, Nate… I’m sorry… I love you.

Nathan Richardson leaned against the park gates and pocketed his cell after listening to his lover’s voicemail for what must be at least the twentieth time. The message was emotional and Ryan’s voice was choked as he spoke. Still, in the few words Nathan heard he got the message. He and Ryan needed to do one hell of a lot of talking.

They’d been together two years, Ryan a photographer and Nathan his model. It was the worst cliché ever and surely destined to fail. But not them. They were in love and going strong. Nathan wanted forever, commitment, a place they owned together, hell, even a ring. Ryan, older than Nathan by five years, had too many breakups under his belt to think that a happy ever after was even possible.

When Nathan was offered a part in a small independent movie, it had been the beginning of the end. Nathan had used modeling to finance acting classes and he jumped at the chance to join the cast of an independent gay film with a contract for two months’ work and an audition for a soap as a new love interest in some kind of triangle.

Nathan expected Ryan to protest—for his lover to tell Nathan he couldn’t live without him and not to go. Instead Ryan grew quieter by the day and merely encouraged Nathan to take the role. Nathan could see what was happening—Ryan was subtly saying he didn’t want a forever kind of thing anyway. Ryan was ending their love affair while he had the chance to be in control of how it ended. They didn’t fight. They drifted apart and Nathan let it happen.

That had been two months ago.

Two days ago Ryan had texted him. I miss you. So much.

Nathan didn’t know what to type in return. Ryan wasn’t exactly offering endless love and a ring. But when Nathan read those few words he knew getting over Ryan was unachievable. He loved the man, and always would. His friend Jason wanted him to move on. He could no more move on from Ryan than he could turn straight.

Ryan was the other half of him.

I love you, Nathan sent in reply.

I want forever, Ryan texted back.

I can go for that, Nathan replied quickly.

I can get a flight. Unspoken was asking if Ryan could visit Nathan.

Please.

Despite staring at the screen for an hour, there were no more messages.

Then the voicemail came when Nathan was on his run. Heartfelt and perfect. The two of them could make this real. Not long and his lover would be here, then they could clear the air and maybe he and Ryan could find a way to move on.

Ryan Ortiz said he was ready for forever and Nathan wanted that so badly.

He had run here, the opposite side of the US, to give Ryan time to think about what he felt and what he wanted. It had killed him not to be calling Ryan every day, but Nathan knew Ryan and knew his best bet was to not pressure his lover. His gaze passed over where he now lived, a place so very different from his and Ryan’s former home in the chaos and noise of New York.

A small complex of four apartments, quiet and remote, the peace and solitude suited his frame of mind perfectly. He lived in this two-bedroom apartment in the hills beyond LA, rented from an absentee landlord, and had made it his own with photos of family and even one of him and Ryan in happier times. As much as he wished he could, he hadn’t been able to cut Ryan out of his thoughts, or his life.

He stood in the roughhewn park carved out across the road from his home and looked away from his sanctuary to the nature that surrounded him. The park itself was a jumble of trees and rocks, grass and pathways, some steeply climbing higher into the hills, some gently curving and ideal for his attempted runs. The nearest main road was a quarter-mile away, and most people drove past the entrance to the small complex without realizing the road led to people’s homes.

Jason and his girlfriend had put an offer on one of the two empty apartments. Having his best friend in LA living next door was a good thing. He needed that connection if he couldn’t have Ryan in his life on a permanent basis. Although…maybe…somehow he and Ryan could make it work?

Nathan smiled as a cloud of birds rose gracefully from the oak at the edge of the park, heading skyward at an incredible speed. He loved that he was so close to the peace of nature, and the sight of the birds was both eerie and fascinating. He couldn’t stop looking at it, wishing he had his camera with him, cursing at another amazing photo opportunity lost.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to share what he’d seen with Ryan.

* * * * *

Thursday 6:59 am
Ryan Ortiz sat forward in the cab as they rounded a corner. He was desperate to get his Nathan into his arms where Ryan could hold him and tell him that he loved him. The cab was moving too slowly and all the driver wanted to do was talk to him.

“What brings you to LA?”

“My boyfriend lives here.” Nathan.

“So you’re not a resident?”

“No, I’m here from New York, just for a few days.” Hopefully longer if Nathan will take me back.

The questions continued to come. What did he think of the spate of forest fires in the LA hills? Did he think that Lindsay Lohan was for real? Did he have pets? Was he married? Did he want to get married? Was he fighting for equal rights? For the most part, Ryan managed to keep up until he realized that the driver wasn’t actually listening to his answers, and so he was able to subside to a new level of tired grunts in answer to each new question. Still dazed from his early morning flight from New York, his mind limped through thought and memory, attempting to make order out of chaos. The views from the taxi, the vista of the city laid out through the misty smog, were gorgeous, and he itched for his camera. It was a very strange feeling not to have it with him, but the rush to get here, to see Nathan, had precluded organizing his extensive camera equipment. It was the first time in his memory he’d gone anywhere without at least one camera.

He missed taking photos of Nate. His gorgeous lover had started as his model for Style and hell, Ryan loved every minute of seeing Nate through the viewfinder. They’d slipped into a relationship, a fiery, intense love affair. Then his beautiful lover had revealed he wanted to try acting and even had a role lined up. Although when that had happened Ryan didn’t know, as Nathan hadn’t told him a thing.

“It’s such a cliché,” Ryan told him. “Model turned actor.”

He was only teasing but Nathan took him so seriously. “It’s just a dream of mine, and I’m lucky they let me try for it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had done this?”

“I thought they’d laugh me out of the door, I never imagined they’d say yes.”

Ryan had pulled Nathan into a hug. “I’m proud of you, babe,” he said firmly. Of course, inside he’d faced the finality that he was losing Nathan. No point in a future when they were separated on opposite sides of the US, and he certainly wasn’t going to hold Nathan back. It had been easier for Ryan to assume they were ending with Nathan’s move to LA.

Ultimately Nathan left his position with Style and moved permanently to LA, embracing his burgeoning acting career. The arguments increased at the same rate as the distance between them. Ryan had always been the one who picked the fights. Fucking idiot. Ryan fought insecurity and jealousy and the only way he could do that was to pretend Nathan leaving for a new career meant nothing to him.

Nathan got the role in the TV series, up and away from his independent film part, starting with a six-month contract. His picture was emblazoned on page twenty-nine of a teen magazine that Ryan’s assistant left on his desk. The photo was one of Ryan’s, and it was one of his favorites. Nathan, beautiful, shirtless, his lean body stretched with catlike grace, leaning back on his elbows. His jeans were pushed down and his hipbones teased at what was hidden. He was pictured gazing away from the camera thoughtfully, his soft dark hair in disarray around his face. The lighting had been faultless, each coppery highlight in Nathan’s hair picked out in detail. The photo was simply perfect.

They had gone home after that shoot and made love and it was the moment Ryan knew he was head over heels for Nathan. They’d exchanged I love you’s and Nathan began to make plans for a future together, a house outside the city maybe, adoption, hell, the whole family thing. Ryan wasn’t sure he was capable of all that, but he’d nodded and listened. Then he saw the damn photo again and he knew at that moment he should never have let his fears stop him from believing in what they had.

Ryan didn’t hesitate when he saw that photo. He loved Nathan and they had been apart too long. Sure there was a relationship to save, he texted Nathan and Nathan had answered. Ryan impulsively booked a flight immediately—the first flight he could get to LA. He called Nathan from the airport and left a voicemail when Nathan didn’t answer. Now he sat in the taxi as the driver steered it up into the hills. He needed to push aside his insecurities, drop to his knees, and beg forgiveness of the one person who made him whole. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

* * * * *

7:12 a.m.
After his pathetic, half-hearted stumble-run, Nathan decided he needed to get indoors and get a shower. He wasn’t sure what time Ryan would get here but Nathan wanted to be at least halfway decent when he did.

He couldn’t help the excitement that flooded him. He really wanted to see if maybe his ex-lover would want to find some kind of resolution. Maybe they could agree to split their time between the two cities?

He was just inside the main door when the floor beneath his feet moved, subtly the first time, slowly, a groaning, a creaking, and a soft shaking. The ground shift left him holding the doorframe. It only lasted a few seconds and was over before he could force a thought about it through the rest of the clutter in his mind. The checklist in his head clicked in automatically before the shaking had stopped. He smiled briefly. That earth movement would be dominating the news today. Hey, maybe today was a good day for him to walk proudly out of the closet! Surely revealing his sexual preferences would never be more newsworthy than an earthquake in Tinseltown.

He thumbed to the number of his brother out of state and hit Send. The phone at the other end rang once, twice, a third time, and voicemail kicked in. He decided not to leave a message. No one really needed to know that a minor shock had hit his apartment in the hills above LA. The trembler hadn’t been strong enough to be worthy of hitting the news anywhere outside of California. Nathan had just been trying to be a good citizen, letting a family member know like the government said he should. He made a mental note to charge the damn cell when he finished his shower.

Seconds later, just as Nathan pocketed his cell, the earth around him ripped apart with such savagery that it was impossible to stand upright. Nathan scrabbled to hold the side of the doorframe, trying to find his feet. His vision blurred as dust and concrete fell about his head, knocking him to the ground. Before the shaking stopped, before the ceiling joists cascaded down and trapped his legs, he slammed into unconsciousness.

Chapter 2
They were about ten minutes away from Nathan’s apartment when the pre-shock hit. The driver cursed as the car skittered sideways, and Ryan grabbed on to the door and his belt in confusion.

“What the hell?”

“S’okay, just a small one. We get them all the time out here.”

Ryan knew what he meant. Earthquake. He’d never really experienced an earthquake before and it had felt weird, like the whole of the earth beneath the car had slid sideways, stones and loose gravel from the hills above them dropping onto the car in a crashing, rattling rain.

Ryan peered out the window at the sweeping vista of LA sleeping below him, wondering how many people woke up to the sound that was like distant thunder and to the shaking of the earth. The car had skidded to the edge of the road, and he shot a quick glance down the slope, thanking God that it hadn’t been a major quake. Smiling ruefully, he sat back in the seat as the driver pulled away and angled back onto his side of the road.

A breath-stealing jolt yanked him from his musings.

The car was moving; no, the hill was moving…shuddering and falling…pushing the hapless car ahead of it. The rocks, vegetation…the sky tumbled. The car neared the edge, the driver shouting hysterically as it tilted sideways, large chunks of hillside falling to dent the car, beat at the car, push the car to the edge, to the drop, to the shaking and dancing of the moving earth.

Ryan clung with both hands to the grab handle over the cab’s door and jerked at every noise, every motion. This wasn’t good, not good at all. He stared out, snatching a quick look down at LA, and what he saw was burned into his mind. Explosions. He thought he saw buildings shattering and imploding, but that had to be his imagination. What the fuck is happening?

The car ceased its crazy ride and, for one second, remained poised on the edge, overhanging the drop. Then a final shove of moving dirt sent it careening, tumbling down the rise.

The car lodged against a natural outcrop and came to a sudden and bone-crunching stop, the thunder and passion of the earthquake still warring around it, the hill subsiding, plummeting, and falling in a haphazard storm of rocks and debris. The seatbelt saved Ryan’s life. It stopped him from being thrown from the car and crushed under it as it rolled and slid, but it also ultimately trapped him inside the vehicle as the chassis twisted and buckled against the onslaught of the hillside. All too soon the noises around him started to slow, and he was left in the dark surrounded by dust and earth, his eyes burning with fumes. He needed to get out of the taxi now.

With a powerful resolution born of a desire to live, he heaved himself out of the belt and pushed at the door with his booted feet, tumbling out as it burst open. He crab-walked away from the compacted car, his eyes taking in what was essentially half a car. The front had been flattened and the driver crushed.

He was trapped in a nightmare. The remains of the cab perched precariously on a bed of dirt and rocks of all sizes. Flames licked up leaking fuel, eating at the crushed metal. Ryan knew he could do nothing for the driver. He was gone…crushed…dead…fuck.

Stumbling to his feet, he clutched at his forehead, pulling his hand away and staring in a shocked stupor at the blood. A head injury. Crap.

The car groaned as the metal heated. Half out of his mind with horror and dread, believing the car would explode, he twisted and scrambled his way up over the remains of the road, feeling the heat on his back as the fire continued to eat away at the mutilated car. The cab wasn’t the only car destroyed. One that had been ahead of them lay crushed so badly no one could have escaped. Another vehicle that they’d passed on the freeway had plowed into an embankment and burst into flames. All of the vehicles had been tossed around like toys in the hands of Nature.

Finally he crashed to his knees, his back to the view below. There was nothing he could do for anyone in any vehicle here, and his gaze focused on what was left of the road. Reluctantly, spurred by horrified fascination and the need to face what had happened, Ryan pushed himself to his feet and turned slowly. Shielding his eyes with his hand and coughing, he faced the nightmare vista of LA laid out before him. Fire. He could see fire, drifts of dark gray smoke, and clouds of dust. Debris. The ground still stirred uneasily beneath his feet. This was a living disaster movie, surreal, unbelievable. LA was unrecognizable. Everything had gone eerily silent where he stood above the rage of the distant fires and destruction, the motion of the earth around him having finally faded.

The taxi burned brightly, and he shuddered at the thought of the dead driver. Ryan didn’t want to think about a world where death could be a blessing. He could have been trapped in that car, trapped in the flames. Fire: his worst fear, his nightmare.

Living, breathing fire tracked steadily on its way up the hillside following a dirty trail of oil and fuel that speeded its path. He really needed to move and now, but for a second, he stopped, dazed, still watching LA shattered by the ground on which it had risen. Jesus, this looks worse than the Northridge quake of ’94. He recalled a spread in National Geographic that said the quake had only lasted thirty seconds, but he remembered it killed about sixty people and injured several thousand. Images of collapsed freeways and fires flashed across his thoughts, quick jumbled images of death and destruction. This looked bad, and this wasn’t just a small part of the city. The entire LA downtown looked to be destroyed.

Below him lay LA, and around him, but not too near, he heard sirens and smelled smoke. Nathan was somewhere above him, perhaps hit as hard as he’d been. Maybe he was trapped, possibly dead—Ryan froze and refused to think of the worst scenario any more.

Should he try to contact someone? Who? Emergency services? If the situation hadn’t been so horrendous, Ryan might have laughed at the stupidity of his thought. There was no one else that could be right here and now; Nathan had him and him alone to depend upon.

He checked his pocket. Fuck, his cell was in the car, along with a hastily packed flight bag.

Tensing his muscles one by one, he tested for injuries. Each limb seemed bruised but worked. He was relatively uninjured, and nothing appeared broken. His breathing had become easy and regular. He thanked the heavens for the fact that he went running every day and was fit. Picking his way carefully, he started up the hill. Climbing over piles of stone and tossed trees and foliage, he managed to trace parts of the broken road, breaking into a run when he could. He’d been running for ten minutes when he came to an abrupt stop.

“Holy shit.”

Mother Nature had destroyed all that Ryan knew as right and normal. The road twisted in on itself, decimated and ripped apart. It was difficult to see where he needed to scramble but as long as he moved uphill, he was going in the right direction. He imagined he was just over two miles from Nathan’s apartment, in normal circumstances about twenty minutes at a steady uphill run. Over the unsettled wasteland he traversed, he knew the trip would last much longer.

Nathan could be hurt up there. Over the next rise could be total devastation. Ryan quickened his jog, his heart pounding as he jumped and climbed the fallen hillside. He didn’t pass any other cars that had signs of life in them, just burned, twisted wreckage and bodies he couldn’t stand to look at.

As he topped the last hill, to the place where Nathan’s complex had sat, he stopped, horrified. The last time he’d been here, when Nathan first came to LA, the whole area was beautiful—landscaped and artistic design nestled into the hills. But now…

He gaped at a scene that looked like something out of a war movie. Everything was flat. Half the mountain had crushed the private entrance. The gates and what had been the parking area were torn in two.

“Fuck.”

Author Bio:
RJ’s goal is to write stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and most importantly, that hint of a happily ever after.

RJ is the author of the over one hundred novels and discovered romance in books at a very young age. She realized that if there wasn’t romance on the page, she could create it in her head, and is a lifelong writer.

She lives and works out of her home in the beautiful English countryside, spends her spare time reading, watching films, and enjoying time with her family.

The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn’t like it one little bit and has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.

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