Page 79 of Suspicions on the Stage
Morgana snorts. “Welcome to my life, Li. There’snevertime to grasp things, especially when I need it most. You’re all tied to my curse now, it seems.”
She’s joking, of course; Morgana isn’treallycursed.
“Someone wanted us to find Rialto’s body,” my mate says, her voice low but sharp. “They wanted you to be suspected, Slade. No one else would have been expected to come into that theaterbeforethe rehearsal started.”
“Mission accomplished,” Lucas mutters, rubbing his face.
Kaspar’s voice is quiet, gravelly. “We should continue this in the gazebo. The kids should go change, and we’ll get refreshments together. I don’t want these conversations to take place in the house proper anymore, remember?”
Morgana nods, slow and certain. “I’ll go with them. I’m still in work clothes and I don’t want to lounge in Tom Ford.”
The dragon rolls his eyes, but the prince gives him a dirty look so he grunts his approval. “Fine. But don’t dick around; we have to discuss this stuff while it’s still fresh.”
Lucas gives the dragon a wry expression. “As if any of us feel like playing grab-ass when we’ve been occupying the same space as a dead body. Gross, fucker.”
“I don’t know what you rich boys get turned on by,” Kaspar retorts as he gives the bear a toothy grin. “Far be it for me to judge your kinks.”
Morgana groans and throws her hands up. “That’s enough—both of you. Slade, Lucas and I are going up stairs, and you lot get the HQ ready for debrief. Or… whatever.”
Everything just goes better when she takes charge, and I’m not complaining for a second.
calm down
MORGANA
Lucas makes a beeline for the stairs at my words, but I catch his elbow. “Don’t get rid of those clothes. We need to keep them.”
He blinks at me and then looks down at himself. The shirt is wrinkled and definitely has the smell of someone standing under hot stage lights for hours. “Damn, you’re right. The cops never collected our clothes. If Jackson needs leverage later, this could save our bacon. Maybe.”
“Exactly,” I reply as I walk upstairs, steering him. Slade peels off from behind me as we hit the top, and Lucas joins me in our room. The first thing I do is tilt my head at the bathroom, so he touches nothing we’ll need to wash.
Once there, I pop the window and let some of the scent of death seep out. Lucas sits on the edge of the large tub, unlacing his boots slowly.
“Do you need help?” I ask. He shakes his head, but I can tell he wants to say yes, so I crouch down and help anyway. The lacesare stiff, and when I pull them free, I get a whiff of the theater’s ammonia-and-fear cocktail all over again.
Damn, that’s potent. I’ve never smelled stuff this keenly before.
We work together to strip him in silence. The only sounds are the whirring of the bathroom fan and the far-off whine of the cop cars still arriving on campus. When Lucas finally stands, he peels his shirt and pants in one long, shivering motion, like a snake discarding its own skin. I grab a trash bag from under the sink and hold it open.
“Put everything in here,” I say. “Don’t even touch the outside.”
Lucas nods. He drops the uniform, the undershirt, the socks, and the little badge they clipped to his collar all into the bag. I twist the top, double-knot it, and write his name and the date across the plastic with a Sharpie.
“Better?” I ask with a grin.
“Not with being naked with my mate and having no desire to get playful. This sucks ass.” His voice is frayed but steady, and I get the sense that he’s trying to check on me as much as himself.
“I’m fine,” I lie. He doesn’t need to know that almost having to pry him from jail again is killing me… not yet, at least. “Shower. I’ll deal with Slade.”
Lucas looks like he wants to hug me, but he just nods and ducks behind the curtain, letting the water roar up to mask everything else.
No one is touching me until we get that yuck off; that’s for sure.
Across the hall, Slade’s already kicked off his shoes, and his button-down shirt is balled up on the floor. He’s pacing,shoulders tight, hands flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to keep from fidgeting. I step into the room, careful not to trip as I hold up the trash bag.
“Now for your clothes, darling. I want to keep this stuff so Jax can have it independently analyzed, since Detective Dipshit didn’t collect it.”
Slade stops, running a hand through his long, beautiful hair. “You think it will help clear us? Really?”
