Catching Out (Rail Riders Book 3), page 15
We made it to the old station in the late afternoon. It was in the same disrepair as the first one we’d visited. Unlike the first, this building was constructed of old batten board siding, which had once been painted beige. The paint peeled and flaked, showing the raw, weathered boards underneath. The whole structure had an uneasy lean like the years had caught up with it, and it was tired. It was two stories high, but I suspected the second floor wouldn’t be accessible—at least not safely. The windows were boarded up, the same as the first building. There was graffiti in places, which spoke of its use by squatters and teens alike.
The lock on the front door had been smashed long ago. Its rusty remains lay on the crumbling concrete platform. It was easy to get inside. No climbing. No struggle. We simply shoved the heavy warped wooden door out of the way and walked in.
Before we crossed the threshold, Brady touched my arm. “Do you want me to check it out by myself? I know this part isn’t easy for you.”
His warm gaze traveled over my face. There was tenderness and understanding in his eyes. He’d seen how hard it was for me at the last building, and I appreciated his concern.
“I’m okay. Let’s do it.”
He nodded, but before he could walk away, I snagged his hand. It was sweaty, but his skin was soft, not calloused and rough like mine. “Be careful. This one looks like it’s full of hazards. I don’t want you to get hurt. We’re a long way from help.”
“You too.”
I squeezed his hand and let go.
We explored the abandoned station for the following half hour. As I’d guessed, access to the second floor was no longer available. The stairs leading up were sagging and rotting so badly I knew any weight would make them collapse. Halfway up, four stairs were missing. Nothing but a gaping hole remained.
It was the same mess of debris. Beer cans, dozens of cigarette butts and empty packs, food containers, rotting clothing, and stray footwear. How was it so many people lost shoes? This building had more spider webs and rats. As I pushed aside an old metal postcard rack, a rodent scurried over my boot, making me jump.
In the end, Brady uncovered a rucksack with a sleeping bag still attached, a broken headlamp, and the shattered plastic shell of what looked like a scanner. They weren’t definitive pieces of evidence, but I’d have bet my left nut they belonged to our dead rider. Brady snapped a few pictures, getting low for a few close-up shots, trying not to disturb the area any more than he had to.
“What was this victim’s name?” Brady asked as we sifted through more debris near where we’d found the gear.
I referenced my phone for the notes Brady had shared with me over his cloud. “Rodney. No last name that I know of. Or rather, autopsy case number 472963. Male. Caucasian. Between the ages of twenty and twenty-five.”
“Are you being flippant?”
“What the fuck is flippant?”
“Cheeky. Insolent.” Brady gave me a sideways smirk and hitched a brow. “Sassy?”
“You’re sassy. I’m never sassy. I was being sarcastic. Okay, insolent. Yes. I hate how they dismissed these guys like they were nobodies. They’re numbers to them, not people. It’s… insulting. Hurtful.”
“You can’t fault the authorities for assigning them numbers when they had no way of knowing who they were.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… Are we done? It’s suffocating in here. I don’t feel so good.”
Brady stood from where he’d been squatting and looked around. He took on a whole different demeanor when he shifted into Dr. Reid mode. He was professional to a fault, and none of the dank, eerie qualities of our research fazed him. It was like he was immune to the horrors. I admired his ability to turn it off. He was stronger than I thought. Maybe he floundered when his athleticism was put to the test, but in the abandoned building, investigating a killer, he was in his element.
Brady was meant to do this. I could see the cogs in his brain whirling around, spinning theories, making connections.
When his attention shifted to me, the look he returned made my belly swoosh. Even inside a dimly lit, desecrated building, he was too good looking for words. And the longer we were together, the more I couldn’t deny it. These fluttery feelings were not going away, and they hit me at such random moments it was making me crazy.
“How about you go outside and get fresh air. Give me a few more minutes. I just want to be sure we didn’t miss anything. I’ll do one more walk around and join you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Please be careful. This place is a death trap.”
“I will.”
Outside, I paced. My skin was alive, tingling with a fresh spike of adrenaline as it coursed through my veins. My heart raced like I’d just caught a train. I walked a distance from the building, far enough Brady wouldn’t hear my conversation if he came outside, and I called Willow.
I’d wavered with the idea of seeking her advice, knowing I was potentially setting myself up to be teased, but something had to give. I couldn’t keep going like this. Willow was my go-to. She knew all my girl troubles, so why not hear about my boy troubles?
I snorted at myself as the phone rang. Never in a million years did I think this would be a conversation we’d share. I had boy troubles. She was going to have a shit fit.
“Troy! Oh my god, did you kill him? I told you, best friend or not, I would not help you dispose of any bodies. He’s dead, isn’t he.”
“Hey, pretty lady. Where’re you at?”
“Just got to Montreal two days ago. Staying at Killer and Green’s new pad.”
“Oh yeah? Is it nice?”
“It’s pretty sweet, except I’m living with three guys who are all pigs, so there’s that.”
I frowned. “Three guys? Who’s with you?”
“Ty’s here.”
“What? What happened? Where’s Elian?” My back stiffened. The last I’d seen Ty, he was staying with Elian in his hometown outside Winnipeg as they sorted out their new relationship.
“Relax. Elian sent him to us.”
“And where is that motherfucker? I swear, if he did a runner again, I’m gonna kick his ass.”
“Relax, you neanderthal. He’s at home.” Her voice dropped, and I heard a door close. “He’s starting therapy. I think it’s a good thing. He didn’t run. I’ve been texting him. He’s trying to get better.”
“Oh. How’s Tyler? This must be killing him.”
“He’s getting there. I think he’s finally embracing us as family.”
“About fucking time. Give him a bear hug from me and tell him I love him.”
“I will. Why are you calling? Aren’t you out solving crime or some shit?”
Heat bloomed in my low belly. I shifted around, checking to ensure Brady hadn’t come outside yet. “I… have a situation. I need your advice.”
“Wow. Should I be flattered? Usually you tell me you don’t want my advice.”
“Can you be serious for five minutes?”
Her tone changed. “What’s going on?”
I blew out a breath. “Okay, so you can’t make fun of me.”
Willow huffed on the other end of the line. “Yikes. That’s asking a lot. But for real, you’re worrying me. Are you okay?”
I kicked at a clump of dried dirt on the ground and braced for impact. “How do you know for sure if… if…”
“If what?”
“Ah, fuck it. I’m just going to say it. How do you know for sure if you’re bisexual?”
My question was met with silence. A long stretch of rattling, aching silence that rang in my ears. I didn’t appreciate it.
“Willow, come on. Help me out.”
“Um… I’m here. I… Okay. Are you serious?”
“Does it sound like I’m joking?”
“I assume this has to do with Brady?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to give me some context?”
I huffed a laugh. “No, not really.”
“Troy, you called me, remember? Talk. I’m not going to make fun of you. I swear.”
Her use of my real name and the tone of her voice told me she understood. Her concern made it easier.
“I keep getting these weird feelings at random moments, and I don’t know what to do about it. They won’t go away. They aren’t bad feelings, but… like butterflies, or how you lose your stomach when you crest a hill too fast in a car. I mean… there was this girl in my tenth grade English class, Olivia, who used to give me those feelings, but I was too much of a chicken shit to talk to her back then. I don’t know what to do with this, and I don’t know what it means.”
“Um… okay. How does Brady feel about it?”
“Are you kidding? I haven’t told him. It all started about a week ago when he admitted he was attracted to me. He thought I’d be weird about it because I’m not gay.”
“He clearly doesn’t know you very well.”
“I know. That’s what I said. I laughed and told him I wasn’t like that. But ever since, when he playfully flirts and kids around, I get that swoopy feeling in my belly, and I flirt back. I can’t help it. I was unconsciously doing it at first, but now I do it on purpose. And…” I couldn’t find the words to finish the next sentence.
“And what?”
“And… I can’t stop wondering what it might be like to kiss him.”
“Wow. I did not see this coming.”
“Yeah, me either. Now what the hell does it mean? I’m not gay. My track record with girls seems to make that very clear, but I didn’t think I was bisexual either. I mean, wouldn’t I have known by now if I was?”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes we don’t discover things until later in life. Sexuality can evolve and change as we get older. It’s not always black-and-white.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. Okay, but what if I’m not bisexual? What if it’s just our proximity and the fact that we spend every waking moment together that’s caused these feelings? How do I know for sure if they’re real?”
“Kiss him.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kiss him. If you’re bisexual and attracted to him, then kissing him will feel good and right, and you’ll want more. If you’re not, then you’ll know.”
“Right, and if I’m not, it will give Brady the wrong idea and make everything weird.”
“I have a feeling it won’t go that way.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve known you for years, Troy. You’re an open book. You don’t bullshit. You don’t beat around the bush about anything. You’re one of those people who never has a hidden agenda. What you see is what you get. If you’re calling me, it’s not because you don’t know. It’s because you needed to say it out loud to someone you trust before moving forward. I’m a safe spot for you.”
I absorbed her words. She was right. I’d known the answer long before I’d made the call. I’d known three days ago at the motel. It was a bit scary, and Willow had always been my sounding board, so it was reflexive to seek her advice.
“Well shit. I did not see this coming. I’m going to get razzed so bad when the guys find out.”
Willow laughed. “Yeah, probably. The real question is, what the hell does Brady see in you? He called you attractive? Does the guy not get out much?”
“Shut up, brat. Lots of girls find me attractive. It stands to reason guys will too, and Brady is one of them. It’s flattering.”
“Great, just what your ego needed.”
We laughed.
Brady emerged from the building, pulling his headlamp off and ruffling his hair. He glanced around and smiled brightly when he saw me, giving me a wave.
I waved back and held up a finger, telling him to hang on. “I gotta go.”
“Good luck. Keep me posted.”
“I will.”
“Hey, Troy?”
“Yeah.”
“Do a girl a favor and keep the details to a minimum.”
I snorted. “We’ll see. You like the play-by-play.”
“I really, really don’t. Spare me. I beg you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for listening, pretty lady.”
“Always.”
I hung up and pocketed my phone.
Moment of truth.
Feet in motion, I crossed toward Brady, who’d move to where we’d left our packs.
“Find anything?” I asked.
“Possibly. I need to reference the pictures you had of those riders.” He gestured to my phone, which I clutched with a white-knuckle grip. Brady seemed to notice something was off and cocked his head to the side. “Who were you talking to?”
“Willow.”
“Oh. Is everything okay?” Worry crossed his face as he studied me, seeking answers I feared might be written all over my face. His perfect brows crinkled, and I fought the urge to smooth them out.
“I’m great. Never been better.”
“Good. Could I see those pictures?” Again, he gestured to my phone, but his analytical gaze never left my face.
“Not yet.”
I tossed my phone on top of my rucksack, stepped forward, took Brady’s face between my palms, and kissed him.
Chapter twelve
Brady
There was barely a second for me to register what was happening. Dodger tossed his phone aside, stepped forward, cupped my cheeks, and pressed his lips to mine before I could get a word out.
My hands flew to his waist of their own accord, and I whimpered or squeaked or made some sort of unintelligible, mortifying noise before closing my eyes and melting against his mouth.
Was this really happening? What was going on?
It wasn’t a shy kiss either. There was no hesitation or uncertainty behind it. Dodger was aggressive and bold, the way he was with everything. Confident to a fault. His tongue nudged the seam of my lips, and I opened, letting him in. They brushed together, the velvety rasp sending shivers up my spine, a flood of pleasure coating me head to toe. My body came alive, pulsing with a suppressed yearning I’d been doing my best to ignore for over a week.
It was dangerous and wholly unexpected.
What had come over him?
As Dodger explored my mouth, his thumbs moved over my cheeks in a gentle caress, scraping against the light stubble that had grown since I’d shaved at the motel. He pulled back a bit, nipped my lower lip almost playfully, sucked it into his mouth, then kissed me again.
This had to be another dream. I must have fallen asleep on the train. None of this was real. It was impossible.
But it felt more real than all my other dreams combined. I could taste him, a hint of the oranges we’d shared at breakfast and the lingering presence of the cigarette he’d last smoked on our long walk to the station. His scent surrounded me, invading my nostrils with each inhale. On his hands, there was a suggestion of iron from where he’d clung to the rusty rail of the well. His hair carried a whisper of honey and hazelnut, but mostly, it was the unique scent I associated with Dodger.
Dreams usually lacked the presence of gustatory or olfactory sensations, so that in itself should have been the tell-tale factor, hinting at reality.
I didn’t care. Dream or not, it was amazing.
The kiss came to a natural end, but Dodger didn’t release my face. He hovered close, his panting breaths ghosting my lips as our eyes locked. He was trembling.
“Um… hi,” I said. “That was unexpected. Wh-what’s going on?”
His eyes smiled behind his slightly fogged glasses, and he ran his tongue along his lips, sucking them into his mouth as though tasting me again. “I… don’t know.”
“I’m confused. I… thought you were straight.”
“I thought so too, but… then I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you, so maybe it’s not that simple. I’m still trying to sort it out. You look freaked out.”
“Oddly, you don’t.”
He chuckled. “Go with the flow, I say. Did I make a mess of things?” He let his hands slide from my face. They coasted along my arms until he reached my hands, and he held them, taking a half step back.
“I’m still deciding if this is another dream.”
“Another dream? You dreamed about me before?”
My cheeks blazed. “Um… a little bit. Yes.”
“Your cheeks are red.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“What were we doing in your dreams?”
“I’d rather not say.”
He chuckled. “Suit yourself. I will flounder along directionless in that case.” The bewildered look he wore shifted to something a little more somber. “In all seriousness, did I cross a line? Was that okay?”
“I think it requires more analysis before I can give a definitive answer. More testing. As it stands, we only have a single instance for which I was able to gather data. It’s not enough.”
Dodger’s left brow rose. “Are you being cheeky?”
“Flippant.”
“Sassy?”
“Always.”
He kissed me again. It was slower that time like he was taking it all in, absorbing the new experience. I sighed when we came apart, and I was sure I looked punch-drunk with pleasure.
“Was that okay?”
“Still gathering data, but the outlook is promising.”
“I can’t with you.”
“Did you think about bacteria?” I asked.
Dodger snorted and stepped back, releasing me and wiping a hand over his face. “Oh my god. You’re too much. Stop. Who are you, and what have you done to me?”
“Well, were you? It’s an important part of the case study.”
“No, I was not thinking about bacteria. It was the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Ah-ha!” I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “So I was right. I knew kissing boys was the answer.”
“I guess so.” He batted my hand away.
