When Charlie Rideout’s best friend David vanishes from Denver’s vibrant drag bar scene, he turns to the last person who should take the case. Max Evans is a jaded private detective still haunted by the murder of his husband at the hands of a serial killer he helped put behind bars.
But the deeper Max and Charlie dig into David’s disappearance, the more the shadows of Max’s past close in around them. A taunting business card smeared with blood. A killer who was supposed to be locked away. And the terrifying realization that David’s abduction was never about David at all. It was a trap designed to lure Max back into a nightmare he never escaped.
As the clock ticks down on David’s life, Max and Charlie are drawn together by more than the case. Charlie’s relentless optimism cracks open something in Max he thought died with his husband, while Max’s fierce protectiveness awakens feelings Charlie never expected to find in the middle of a crisis. But forces beyond them despise nothing more than the happiness of others, and falling for each other might be the most dangerous thing they can do.
Charlie’s scream kept ringing in my ear as Harris and I raced along the roads towards his apartment, siren trilling overhead.
We had just come from a downtown crime scene and now I was fearing we would be traveling towards another one. Harris punched the gas as the car reached a hundred miles per hour, and we took corners so hard I had to hold onto both my seat belt and the dash. I wanted the speed though, so I gritted my teeth and took the force.
There was a terrible thrill to speeding down a highway or side street to a call, but in this case, I didn’t want or need the adrenaline to feel shaky. An avalanche of thoughts crashed through my psyche as we drove, ones of fear and panic. What had frightened him enough to make him scream like that? What would I find when we arrived?
I hadn’t hung up the call yet and wouldn’t until he was safely in my arms. I heard him breathing heavy through the phone and shuffling of feet, as I kept it glued to my ear. I didn’t know if he could hear me at all, but I kept saying words of encouragement just in case he could. “You’re okay, Charlie. We’re almost there, Charlie. Tell me if you’re in immediate danger, Charlie.”
I kept saying his name like a mantra, as if every time I uttered it, the words would ward away whatever had hurt or threatened him.
Harris wasn’t speaking beside me as he concentrated on handling the car, but he had sent out a notice to the police dispatcher when we had first reached his vehicle. A paramedic team and two backup officers had promised to meet us at Charlie’s apartment, and Harris had relayed his address from me to the team.
It took us twenty minutes to navigate through the Denver streets, skirting around red lights and passing by the construction sites which plagued the city. I directed Harris to the small entrance of the road which I knew led to our destination, and he braked hard in front of the building. “We’re here, Charlie. I’m coming up.” I panted into the phone, sprinting the short distance to the stairway and taking the steps two at a time.
I rounded the corner to his front door and banged on it, hearing an echo from my phone. “It’s me, Max! I’m here! Are you safe? Please open up!”
I heard Harris bounding the stairs below me, hot on my heels. Sliding noises emanated from behind the door as I griped the side of the building for stability. It’s happening again. It’s happening again. It’s happening aga --
The door opened slowly and Charlie’s tear-streaked face poked out. I rapidly pushed through, grabbing him in my arms and hauling him into me. He let out a sharp squeak of surprise but didn’t pull away. I ran my hands up and down his back, checking for the wounds my mind was sure I would find there. Nothing. No gaping holes in his skin, no contusions.
Harris pushed past me into the apartment, but I ignored him to pull Charlie off of me to examine his face.
His emerald eyes were abnormally reddened and dull, his cheeks were blotchy, and his lip was quivering. But he was intact. Alive. He hooked his delicate fingers around my forearms, my leather jacket shifting with his pressure. He clung on to me as I scanned down his body.
“Who hurt you? Are we alone?” I asked, a little louder than I had intended.
It took me a second for his response to register through my panic, but I heard him say, “No, no. It-it’s that.”
He pointed to a ... something on the floor near his bed. His phone was laying catty-corner to it on the bare wood. Harris was hunched over the little something, examining it. “What is that?” I asked, pulling Charlie absentmindedly back into my chest.
