"Go in the bedroom." Brian moved to the door but didn't open it. "Go!"

I stumbled up, unsure. I couldn't, shouldn't leave him alone with Carl. I remembered the way he'd looked at me yesterday, the deliberate pain he'd caused fucking me, as though he thought he might be abrading away any contact Brian might have had with me. I couldn't let him turn that anger on Brian.

The knock came again, a little louder, more insistent, and Brian bit his lip. "Paul, please."

I shuffled around the corner, out of sight of the door, but didn't go too far. Brian peeked through the peephole as I waited around the corner. His shoulders released their tension almost immediately, and he yanked the door open.

"Vic!"

A tall, broad-shouldered man strode inside, and Brian shut the door behind him.

"Hey. Lil around?"

"He's at work. Come on in. I have coffee."

Vic pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. I couldn't take my eyes off his face. This was the guy from the park. There was no way I could mistake those eyes, the perfect, high cheekbones, or dark glow of his skin.

"I guess you saw the news last night?" Vic took the steaming mug Brian offered and set it on the table.

"Yeah." Brian took the chair opposite him. "Anyone we know?"

Vic shook his head. "No. Never seen either of them before. The second one was married. Glad I didn't have to deliver that bad news. 'Ma'am, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but we found your husband, pants open, throat slashed, body mutilated behind a gay bar!' Fuck. This is a mess."

"Two?" Brian seemed to fold in on himself, and the motion drew me out of hiding to put a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and touched my fingers. The warmth of contact that didn't hurt was surprisingly reassuring. "Vic, this is Paul."

Vic looked up, and his mouth fell open. Shocked recognition crossed his face, then, for one split second, he appeared horror stricken. "Shit." His face went completely blank.

"Paul Miller." He stood, reached to his belt, and pulled his badge free to hold up in my face. "You are under arrest for the murder of Henry Staffville."

"What?"

The words slammed into me, knocking my breath out, but meant nothing right away. Not until he stepped behind me, grabbed one arm, and yanked it back did the meaning register. And then, my default to cowed submission was so ingrained he had me cuffed in a matter of seconds. I couldn't resist if I'd thought of it. Brian surged to his feet.

"Vic!"

"I'm sorry, Brian," Vic said.

I didn't know him. Who knew if he really was sorry? But the professional veneer slipped as he stepped around, back where I could see him, and met Brian's gaze.

"I have no choice." He turned back to me and rattled off what I guessed were supposed to be my rights, but I didn't hear any of it.

"Bri?" I moved toward him. He could set this cop straight. This wasn't right.

"Victor, this is ridiculous! He didn't kill anyone!"

Brian inserted himself between the door and me, and I realized Victor had a hand on my back, shoving me toward the exit. I stumbled and would have fallen on my face if Victor hadn't caught me by one arm. He hauled me back upright, but his grip wasn't harsh. He met my eye, and I couldn't look away.

"It's my job." The blank look softened. "I didn't expect to see you here. I'm sorry. But there's a warrant. I can't ignore that."