of his ass under the towel as he paces the room.
“What? You’re fucking kidding me?” Joseph grinds to a halt, expression creasing up in annoyance. “What? Yeah, yeah, okay. Soon as you know.” He thumbs off the phone and tosses it to the bed where it falls into the thick comforter.
“What? What is it?” Ryan asks.
Joseph turns, noticing him for the first time. “Phil Cartwright hanged himself,” he says. His tone is flat, pissed. He raises his hand to his face and runs it over his clean-shaven jaw. “Fuck! This is not good news.”
“He hanged himself?” Ryan repeats. “When? Where?”
“Last night. His wife found him hanging from a beam in their garage.”
“Oh my God,” he breathes, scrambling into a sitting position, the covers falling down around his hips. “Shit, Joseph. This could be… I mean… the way he was acting yesterday. He seemed terrified. Do you think there’s a chance—”
“That someone got rid of him?” Joseph shrugs. “It’s possible. Though, it’s more likely he did it himself. The dude wasn’t in the healthiest mental state yesterday.”
“No, no,” Ryan says thoughtfully. “God, I just… I can’t believe it. Christ, we just saw him!”
“Yes,” says Joseph distractedly. He runs a hand over the back of his head, through his wet hair. He stalks back into the bathroom, calling out, “I’m going to see if I can meet with the detective in charge of the case.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to come with you?”
Joseph leans around the bathroom door, raises an eyebrow. “You need to go buy some new pants.”
“Oh, right, yeah. I guess I should do that,” he says slowly. He slides out of the bed and pads across the floor to rescue his creased and stained pants. He holds them up to the light, says, “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
He tosses them onto the bed and looks around for his underwear. He feels suddenly dirty, no, not dirty exactly, grubby—that’s the better word—scrambling around to locate his underwear on the floor of the hotel room where he screwed around with his boss the night before. It takes him a few seconds to remember that he wasn’t wearing any underwear last night. He’d left his own room clad in just his dress pants and only his dress pants, so eager had he been to get to Joseph. The memory makes his stomach knot up and he raises his hand self-consciously to his temple, wincing when it meets the cut. Shit, he’d forgotten about that too. It feels like it’s already scabbed over now, sort of spongy and gritty under his fingertips.
“Hey, let me take a look at that,” Joseph says from behind him.
He turns around, letting his hand fall to his side. Joseph steps toward him and grabs his jaw, tilting his head to one side and peering at the cut.
“It doesn’t look so bad; you won’t need stitches. Does it hurt?”
“No,” he answers truthfully.
Joseph nods, splays his fingers over Ryan’s jaw, running his fingertips over the bristles. The touch makes Ryan shiver; his half-hard cock gives an interested twitch. Joseph glances down and smirks, then looks up again to meet his eyes.
“That will have to wait,” he says. “Go, get showered, buy those new pants, then call me. I’ll come get you. We’re booked on the 12:00 p.m. flight out of here and we should interview Cartwright’s wife before we leave.”
M RS . C ARTWRIGHT looks pale and shaken, her eyes watery and distant and constantly glancing over their shoulders like she’s on alert. She discovered the body, Ryan thinks. She came into the garage to get a new lightbulb for the dining room lamp and she found her husband hanging from the ceiling . There’s nothing he can say or do that will take that away from her. She’s going to remember that for the rest of her life. Still, there are the motions and pleasantries and sometimes these things can even help.
“We’re so sorry for your loss,” he says as they take their seats at the kitchen table.
She
“What? You’re fucking kidding me?” Joseph grinds to a halt, expression creasing up in annoyance. “What? Yeah, yeah, okay. Soon as you know.” He thumbs off the phone and tosses it to the bed where it falls into the thick comforter.
“What? What is it?” Ryan asks.
Joseph turns, noticing him for the first time. “Phil Cartwright hanged himself,” he says. His tone is flat, pissed. He raises his hand to his face and runs it over his clean-shaven jaw. “Fuck! This is not good news.”
“He hanged himself?” Ryan repeats. “When? Where?”
“Last night. His wife found him hanging from a beam in their garage.”
“Oh my God,” he breathes, scrambling into a sitting position, the covers falling down around his hips. “Shit, Joseph. This could be… I mean… the way he was acting yesterday. He seemed terrified. Do you think there’s a chance—”
“That someone got rid of him?” Joseph shrugs. “It’s possible. Though, it’s more likely he did it himself. The dude wasn’t in the healthiest mental state yesterday.”
“No, no,” Ryan says thoughtfully. “God, I just… I can’t believe it. Christ, we just saw him!”
“Yes,” says Joseph distractedly. He runs a hand over the back of his head, through his wet hair. He stalks back into the bathroom, calling out, “I’m going to see if I can meet with the detective in charge of the case.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to come with you?”
Joseph leans around the bathroom door, raises an eyebrow. “You need to go buy some new pants.”
“Oh, right, yeah. I guess I should do that,” he says slowly. He slides out of the bed and pads across the floor to rescue his creased and stained pants. He holds them up to the light, says, “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
He tosses them onto the bed and looks around for his underwear. He feels suddenly dirty, no, not dirty exactly, grubby—that’s the better word—scrambling around to locate his underwear on the floor of the hotel room where he screwed around with his boss the night before. It takes him a few seconds to remember that he wasn’t wearing any underwear last night. He’d left his own room clad in just his dress pants and only his dress pants, so eager had he been to get to Joseph. The memory makes his stomach knot up and he raises his hand self-consciously to his temple, wincing when it meets the cut. Shit, he’d forgotten about that too. It feels like it’s already scabbed over now, sort of spongy and gritty under his fingertips.
“Hey, let me take a look at that,” Joseph says from behind him.
He turns around, letting his hand fall to his side. Joseph steps toward him and grabs his jaw, tilting his head to one side and peering at the cut.
“It doesn’t look so bad; you won’t need stitches. Does it hurt?”
“No,” he answers truthfully.
Joseph nods, splays his fingers over Ryan’s jaw, running his fingertips over the bristles. The touch makes Ryan shiver; his half-hard cock gives an interested twitch. Joseph glances down and smirks, then looks up again to meet his eyes.
“That will have to wait,” he says. “Go, get showered, buy those new pants, then call me. I’ll come get you. We’re booked on the 12:00 p.m. flight out of here and we should interview Cartwright’s wife before we leave.”
M RS . C ARTWRIGHT looks pale and shaken, her eyes watery and distant and constantly glancing over their shoulders like she’s on alert. She discovered the body, Ryan thinks. She came into the garage to get a new lightbulb for the dining room lamp and she found her husband hanging from the ceiling . There’s nothing he can say or do that will take that away from her. She’s going to remember that for the rest of her life. Still, there are the motions and pleasantries and sometimes these things can even help.
“We’re so sorry for your loss,” he says as they take their seats at the kitchen table.
She
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