Page 95 of Too Close To Home

The back door creaked open again.

“Thought you’d buggered off without saying goodbye again.” Brodie sauntered out into the mist, taking a slow pull from his vape before letting the cloud drift between them.

Jake slammed the van door. “Why’d you lie to the detective?”

Brodie stopped. “About what?”

Jake turned to face him in the dark. “Andy Mitchell.”

Brodie exhaled sharply. “Jesus, Jake—”

“Was he here? Did you serve him?”

Brodie glanced towards the pub door, checking that no one else had followed him out. “I didn’t recognise him.”

“But you know who he is to me.”

“Do I?” Brodie folded his arms. “Jake, you never talk to me. I know things about you from other people. You’re happy bending me over in there—” He flapped a hand at the van, then stepped closer, “—but I don’t get access to whatever’s going on up here.” He reached out, sliding his thumb along Jake’s temple.

Jake jerked his head away. “You lied to Harrison.”

“Harrison?”

“The detective.”

Brodie scoffed. “No, I didn’t.” He shrugged. “I serve a lot of people, Jake. Faces blur.”

“You should remember the man I went inside for.”

“I didn’t even know you then, did I?” Brodie shot back. “And you’ve never really told me about that time in your life. I can listen, y’know? There’s more to me than just a warm mouth for you.”

“I don’t get why you’d lie to him.”

“It wasn’t a lie. He said a name; I didn’t remember it. Then he showed me a picture, I didn’t recognise it. Obviously, I do now.”

“So you’ll let Harrison know?”

Brodie huffed, his breath clouding between them. “Are you pissed off because I couldn’t remember the bloke’s name, or because I were no use to your precious new detective?”

Jake scoffed. “Fuck you, Brodie.”

“Okay.” Brodie stepped straight into his path.

Jake stopped. “Move.”

Brodie moved. Except closer, not away.

And he slid his hand beneath Jake’s hair, gripping the back of his neck, settling his fingers there with far too much familiarity. “Come on, Jake.”

Jake knew that voice.

He’d heard it at two in the morning after lock-in. In the back of the van. Up the stairs in Brodie’s flat with Brodie’s mouth already on his neck, hand probably on his cock, and both of them knowing exactly where the night was going.

Apparently Brodie thought it might work again.

“You’ve got all this shit kicking off.” His voice dropped, soft and concerned, while he stroked his thumb up the side of Jake’s neck. “Another girl missing. Same place. Gotta be bringing everything back about Robyn, aye?”

There it was.