Southernmost Murder Page 3

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow. He looked like a dog who’d found a tire and was readying to chase it. “I assume by skeleton, you mean it was not… fresh.”

  “No. It was old, but I can’t give it an age. I prefer dating nautical artifacts, not human remains.”

  “Any idea who it might have been?”

  “He wasn’t wearing a name tag, Seb.”

  “Smartass. You manage a historical home.”

  I twirled the cigarette and stuck it back in my mouth. “Only the Smith family lived here.”

  He stared expectantly.

  “Dude, you need to take up some new interests.”

  Sebastian frowned.

  “I’m not going to presume anything,” I continued. “But… there is a rumor… about Captain Smith. His death was controversial, and he never ended up in the family plot.”

  “Where did he end up?”

  I shrugged. “There’s no evidence that story has any validity to it. He has a headstone out in the Key West cemetery. Some locals also say he was the infamous pirate, One-Eyed Jack, and that he haunts the house, so… take the story with a grain of salt.”

  “Someone didn’t want you to have the chance to identify him, perhaps?” Sebastian pointed out.

  I realized I was chewing on the filter of the cigarette and took it from my lips. “You think so?”

  He shrugged. “Why else would it go missing?”

  I tugged on one earring thoughtfully. “Sounds like this could be dangerous.”

  “I’d talk to the police again, just to be on the safe side.”

  “Stupid cop thought I was making it up,” I grumbled.

  “I can ask Calvin to make some calls. Maybe he can scare someone into listening,” Sebastian offered.

  “I don’t need your boyfriend’s help,” I said, waving a hand at the screen. “Jun has more jurisdiction.”

  “Is that what you guys call it?”

  “What did you want, anyway?” I asked sternly.

  Sebastian made a sound under his breath and then smiled. “I recently acquired a tool kit used at sea. I was hoping to catch you before your lunchtime nap and pick your brain about it.”

  “Lunchtime?” I looked at the clock. “Holy shit, it’s really noon?” I shouted.

  Sebastian startled. “Uh, yeah. You okay?”

  “Oh God. I have to go!”

  “Aubs—” Adam called.

  “I left Jun at the airport for over two hours!” I jumped out of my chair.

  “Aubrey,” Adam said again from the doorway.

  I spun around, dropped my cigarette, and hunted on the desk for my cell phone. “What?”

  “You left him at the airport?” Sebastian repeated.

  “My cell’s missing,” I answered loudly.

  “Someone is here to see you, Aubrey,” Adam tried.

  “Hold on!” I called.

  “I think you’ve been single for too long,” Sebastian said thoughtfully.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” I groaned. I threw paperwork off my desk as I searched. Jun had probably called a hundred times, wondering where I was, and I’d completely lost track of time—and apparently my phone too!

  “There’s a guy here,” Adam insisted.

  “Tell him to wait!” I snapped.

  “I’m going to let you go,” Sebastian said, and then I heard the Skype call end.

  I pushed my chair back and got down under my desk. “I don’t have time for this!”

  “Hi, Aubrey.”

  I jumped up and hit my head on the underside. “Ouch! Fuck!” I dropped down, cradling my head and hissing. I turned to see legs standing at my desk and a rolling suitcase beside them. I crawled out and looked up.

  Jun Tanaka. In the flesh.

  My heart skipped a beat. It had been two years since we’d seen each other in person, and I’d been dating his then-partner at the time. It’d been a messy end between me and Matt, and that had been the reason I’d hightailed it to America’s wang. I supposed I had Sebastian to thank for even talking to Jun again. If he hadn’t needed to get in contact with the FBI around Valentine’s for some convoluted mess he was in, Jun wouldn’t be standing here now.

  I’d have never known Jun had been in love with me for years.

  Jun smiled down at me, his entire face alight, and his eyes crinkled in the corners.

  Yeah. I definitely had to thank Sebastian for his accidental matchmaking.

  “Jun!” I scrambled to my feet.

  He held his arms out and leaned down into a hug. The last time I saw Jun, he’d just been a handsome and seemingly straight G-man. Now, after about a month and a half of talking nearly every day, flirting over the phone and on Skype, he was standing right here. Still handsome—maybe even more so than two years prior—and I’d come to learn, a very not straight G-man.

  I’d stressed so much about our first touches. It felt sort of like that excitement and nervousness of meeting an online someone you’d been crushing on, except for the added weirdness that I had a personal history in place with him already. But yeah—first hug. Keep it friendly? Make it intimate? Would touching him that way feel right, or would I get a warning bell in my head that he wasn’t meant to be anything more than a friend? What if it felt wrong and he wasted all of his paid vacation visiting me for nothing?

  Fuck it.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed tight. Jun was a lot taller, like six feet kind of taller. I couldn’t press close against him this way, so I slid my arms down, pushed them through his own, and wrapped myself around his chest. Jun’s arms settled on my shoulders and he petted my head.

  I smiled.

  Oh yeah.

  This was it.

  The perfection my strange life was waiting for.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, pulling back and looking up.

  Jun loosened his hold, but his hands remained on my shoulders. “It’s all right.”

  “Hell no, it’s not. I meant to leave before ten to pick you up, and I got so flustered and sidetracked, now it’s noon and—”

  “It’s okay, Aubrey,” he insisted.

  Jun’s voice was deep. Really deep. And when he spoke Japanese? I swear to God, it dropped another octave, if that’s even possible. It was a shame he was relatively quiet, because I could literally listen to him talk forever and be into it. A week ago I went online to see if deep voices was some sort of fetish or if I was losing it. Turns out there were studies proving men with deep voices were more often than not the first choice as a potential mate.

  So hey, science couldn’t cure my narcolepsy, but they did prove that if it were biologically possible, I’d want to make several babies with Jun.

  I sighed and looked him over. All my memories of Jun were of him in his “I’m a special agent” suit, so it was surprising to see him in anything but. Not that I expected him to be wearing a tie on vacation, but the tight black pants and fashionable shirt with a low neckline made Jun look like someone out of a magazine. He had some scruff on his usually smooth-shaven face and wore black-framed glasses instead of the usual contacts. Jun’s hair was professionally disheveled—the I-rolled-out-of-bed-like-this-and-kept-it look. It was sexy.

  “How are—” he started.

  “You look really hot,” I blurted out.

  Jun paused, glanced over my shoulder to where Adam was probably still loitering, then smiled. He reached out and petted my hair again.

  “How’d you get here?”

  “I rented a car.” Jun took his hands off me, and I wanted the warm weight back immediately. “I tried calling but kept getting voicemail.”

  “Yeah, I think I lost my phone,” I said lamely. I glanced at the mess I’d made during my search.

  Adam cleared his throat from the doorway and raised his eyebrows when I turned. “So everything’s cool?”

  “Cool,” I said. “Sorry. Ah, Adam this is Jun Tanaka. My… my—yeah.” I laughed and put a hand on Jun’s arm. “Jun, Adam Love. He runs the gift shop.�
��

  Jun inclined his head. “Pleasure.”

  “Same,” Adam said. “Aubs talks about you a lot.”

  “Not a lot—” I shook my head and looked at Jun. “Want to get lunch?”

  Chapter Three

  I DIDN’T know what to do with my hands. Put them in my pockets? Seemed standoffish. Crossing them while walking was weird too. I could keep them at my sides and stop freaking out about it—imagine that. But it was the same nervousness as the hug. We weren’t officially dating or anything, Jun could be a hard man to read, and he had never been terribly forthcoming with his desires, so I didn’t know if I was supposed to hold his hand.

  “The radio in the car seemed to only get reception on Cher or Jimmy Buffett songs,” Jun was saying.

  “My condolences.”

  He laughed.

  I stopped walking. “Hey, hold up for a minute.”

  Jun paused and looked at me. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m just going to ask, because I think you prefer that—being straightforward.”

  He raised a brow and stared expectantly.

  “Is holding hands a yes or no? I’m fine with either,” I quickly added. “But for you, I didn’t know if….”

  Jun immediately reached down and slid his fingers between mine, giving my hand a light squeeze. “Good?”

  Awesome, in fact.

  We walked toward the boardwalk, which wasn’t more than ten minutes from the Smith Home. The whole area was bustling with tourists. Some wore swimsuits and desperately needed more sunscreen, others consulted maps of Old Town in their quest for the art museum or Butterfly Conservatory or just any old bar because it was five o’clock somewhere, right? There were boats docked, and the surface of the water shimmered from the afternoon sun overhead. By sunset the street vendors and performers would be out at Mallory Square and the place would be packed with folks looking to ooh and aah over the pretty sky.

  And I wasn’t being sarcastic. It’s quite beautiful here in Key West.

  I headed toward a white building on the water’s edge. The stenciled lettering across the side had faded from the sun long ago, but the name could still barely be made out.

  Sea Shack Beer & Grub.

  “It’s better on the inside,” I said. “Well… the food is good, at least. The barbeque shrimp is worth killing over.”

  Jun smiled and followed me inside.

  It was crowded with families at all of the tables, leaving only a handful of open seats at the three-sided bar. There were a few televisions positioned above with some sports being broadcasted, and the farthest wall had a number of open windows, the smell of the ocean coming in on a breeze.

  “Bar okay with you?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  I snatched two stools before an incoming pack of college bros could, and they planted themselves farther away on the side nearest Jun. “So,” I said, taking a breath. “Did you have a good flight?”

  Jun’s smile was both heart-meltingly sweet and ridiculously hot. It was infuriating how he could pull off the naughty-and-nice thing at the same time. He didn’t have a big smile; rather, it quirked to one side and he kept his lips pressed closed. It was his eyes. Not to sound lame, but they practically twinkled when he was happy.

  “It was fine. I much prefer the skip-and-hop of New York to Florida over the fourteen-hour flights to China and Japan.”

  Oh right—Jun worked for the FBI’s Organized Crime Team and specialized in Asian Criminal Enterprises. He took out serious bad guys like triads and yakuza. He spoke three languages and worked with international organizations to stop underground crime groups. Basically Jun was a superhero. Which, now that I was totally nuts about him, was scary as hell. People shot at him, after all.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” the bartender said distractedly as she approached. “Get you two a drink?”

  “Sapporo on tap,” I said.

  Jun glanced at me and then her. “Same for me.”

  “And can we get some barbeque shrimp?” I added.

  She nodded, already walking away to grab our drinks.

  “I thought you couldn’t drink,” Jun said, turning in his chair to look at me.

  “Yeah, well, one won’t kill me. I’m not supposed to mix alcohol with my stimulants. Which I forgot to take this morning anyway, so….” I shrugged.

  The bartender returned and dropped two paper coasters that had seen better days, then set our full glasses down. “Be back in a few with the food.”

  Jun thanked her and picked up his beer. “What shall we drink to?”

  “Finding my phone so I don’t leave you at future airports again?” I asked, picking up my own drink.

  He smiled again. “Let’s drink to this week and everything that comes with it.”

  “The good, bad, and ugly?” I asked, clinking my glass against his. “Because you’ve not seen how much of a hot mess I am first thing in the morning.”

  “I’m sure you’re absolutely gorgeous,” Jun murmured before sipping his beer.

  Aaaand now I was blushing. Goddamn it. I took several gulps to busy myself.

  “So what has you so flustered?” Jun asked.

  “Besides you?” I was so smooth.

  “It’s not because of me,” he said, a chuckle woven into his words.

  I was so not smooth, apparently. “Nothing important.”

  Jun arched one perfect brow. “Try me.”

  “Oh, come on,” I whined. “I don’t want you looking at me like I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs on the first day you’re here.”

  Jun straightened in his seat. “What’s wrong, Aubrey?” He was all serious now, and it was killing the mood.

  I frowned and ran my fingers up and down my drink, collecting condensation until I realized it looked like I was lazily jacking the glass off and abruptly stopped. “The ‘too long; didn’t read’ version is this morning there was a human skeleton in the third-floor closet of the historical home, and when I brought a police officer in, it was gone.”

  Jun gave his beer a thoughtful expression, crossed his long, sexy legs, and said nothing.

  “You can’t tell me you don’t have a smartass remark or two for that claim. I wasn’t drinking. I wasn’t hallucinating.”

  “But you saw a skeleton,” Jun stated. “I believe you.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Why?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Uh, no one else has, that’s all.”

  Jun picked up his drink and took a sip. “You’d prefer I doubted you?”

  “God no.”

  “Then let’s figure out why it was in the closet,” Jun concluded.

  I waved my hands in protest, knocking over my beer in the act. “Oh shit! Fuck!” I picked up the glass and jumped out of my chair as the Sapporo spilled out across the bar top, my lap, and the floor. “This is sacrilegious!”

  Jun stood, grabbed a wad of napkins, and soaked up the spill as the bartender joined us. She took the soiled mess and tossed it out before cleaning the rest up with a rag. I grabbed some of the cheap, tissue-thin napkins and scrubbed at my pants, but the paper just dissolved and shredded into a white mess on my clothes.

  Ugh.

  “Want a new drink?” Jun asked.

  “I’d better not,” I said lamely. My cheeks were burning, and I couldn’t face him. I was so fucking embarrassed.

  Our bartender returned and slapped down baskets of shrimp and a glass of water. “You know you shouldn’t drink, Aubs,” she said in a chastising tone before walking away.

  Jun patted my seat. “Sit down.”

  I started to, but then one of the dude-bros on Jun’s side of the bar called out, “Hey, twink, can I order you a Shirley Temple?”

  Now, I wasn’t one to take that shit sitting down—so to speak. I’d always stood up for myself, just ask the clown I punched. But I didn’t even have a chance to say something snarky and sufficiently pride-bruising before Jun was on his feet and heading over to the testosterone corne
r.

  Whatever he said made the entire group stand with their drinks and take the drunken commotion to another area. Jun sat back down and motioned to my seat again.

  I awkwardly sat. “Wow. What did you say to them?”

  Jun shook his head and picked up one of the shrimp from the basket.

  “Seriously.”

  He looked at me. “I don’t mean to fight your battles. But that behavior is unacceptable.”

  I shrugged. “It’s cool. You know I’d have said something, though, right?”

  “Of course.” He popped the shrimp in his mouth and murmured, “But sometimes I can’t help being the asshole with a badge—these are really good.”

  THE ONE thing I wanted to do after taking Jun out for lunch was bring him home, get naked, do something naughty, and hope like hell that my cataplexy didn’t get triggered. I mean, I was all about taking it slow, if that’s what Jun wanted, and talking about where we stood as a potential couple, because frankly that was still a gray area for both of us. But after being stood up at the airport and then dealing with my flighty, messy self at the bar, Jun deserved a freaking blowjob.

  So where did we end up instead? The Smith Home.

  “Jun,” I said, trying not to sound like a whiny brat. “My cottage is a lot more inviting. Let’s go home. You can unpack and relax…. I can massage your feet.”

  Jun looked down at me with one raised eyebrow that spoke volumes more than he typically did.

  “I’ll massage something else,” I tried, giving my best suggestive look.

  That made him smile, which really wasn’t the response I was going for. Jun reached out and petted the back of my head briefly. “You’re very cute, Mr. Grant.”

  Ah, okay, at least he was in a playful mood. Jun always called me Mr. Grant when he flirted. “So? You, me, my place, and maybe let’s lose a pair of pants or two along the way?”

  “I’d like to see your work first.” Jun moved his hand from my hair, pausing briefly at my neck before he dropped it to his side. “And this suspicious closet.”

  I groaned rather dramatically, took his hand into mine, and dragged him to the gift shop. “All right. But no loitering. In and out, okay?”