Junk Shop Blues (Criminal Intentions, #2)

by Cole McCade

“Move,” he ground through his teeth. Brixton stared up at him, his face purpling briefly with a flash of temper—but the longer he stared at Seong-Jae, the paler he turned, his eyes widening. He faltered, the bravado draining out of him like a deflating balloon. He looked past Seong-Jae at Malcolm as if he would find help there, but Malcolm said nothing,

Malcolm had tasted like storms, he thought distantly. Like the cold breath of ozone-laden wind blowing in as the sky turned dark and the air shivered with portent to prickle the skin. “Malcolm?” “Ah?”

“…I believe the last time we were in this position, you reminded me that I could let you go now.” “…ah.” But Malcolm didn’t let him go.

Instead his gaze dipped downward, a near-palpable touch to Seong-Jae’s lips, paired with an audible hitch to his breaths, their edges turning ragged. Malcolm’s hands clenched against Seong-Jae’s clothing, just a subtle flex of strength as his fingers dug in, and the pit of Seong-Jae’s stomach turned far too warm, heat stealing over him. “Seong-Jae,” Malcolm breathed, and the ro...

Seong-Jae eyed him. “…poor vision is against regulatory codes for adequate physical condition for police service.” “I’m a little near-sighted with tiny words and pictures,” Malcolm threw back. “I can still pass my firearm certification.” “Can you?” “You want to test if I can hit a moving target at twenty paces, Seong-Jae? Because I could use a little practice.”

“As reasonably certain as I can be with spatial projections, average calculations of room volume and dimensions, and the estimated location of the room on the specified floor.” “…will you talk like a human for once?” Malcolm muttered as he dragged the video player’s timeline slider closer to the actual time of the murder. “I am speaking like a human. I have reasons for speaking the way I do, and I would prefer not to discuss them here.”

but Seong-Jae remained impassive, looking at him mildly as if to ask, what? Well, have you? Scowling, Malcolm switched his attention back to Sade. “I’ve been out on cases. Don’t be cruel.”

“And what, exactly, did you hear?” “Nothing good,” Matheson retorted,

I think my eyebrows have lifted right off my head

“I’ll retire when I’m dead, or when I’m too old to do the job.” “Ah. Not long now, then.”

“What of Lillienne Wellington? Is she in residence?” The guard blinked. “Yeah, I think she’s home.” “Then either let us in to speak to her, or summon her forth.” “Summon her forth?” the gate guard repeated. “Dude. What? Are you straight out of Lord of the Rings or something?”

“I hate you.” “I am aware of this.” “No, I really, really hate you.”

Then he was gone, threading through the stalled cars smoothly, before he hit the shoulder and took off, long legs stretching out until he nearly flew along the grassy embankments lining the highway, following the line of the fence with smooth, graceful strides.

He wondered that he felt nothing, with several weapons pointed at him. Nothing at all.

“Will you lower your weapons, or do I take the shot?” Malcolm’s eyes widened. That was fucking psychotic. And he goddamned well loved it.

“Your desk is too short,” he said. Malcolm didn’t even glance up from his own scribbling, dashing in notes in case files and gaze distracted behind the lenses of his glasses. “Get your own.” “I still like yours better.” “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“If…” He felt as if the words inside him were trying to scale walls that only grew taller the higher he climbed. It was easier to discuss a dismembered body than to make a simple casual, friendly inquiry. “If…I wait…do you wish to visit Swabbie’s once you are finished with the counselor?”

And he didn’t need the strange feeling that walked soft fingers down his spine as Malcolm called after him, lingering on the familiarity of his given name as though he could taste it. “Goodnight…Seong-Jae.”

Alloromantic people don’t listen.” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “How do you handle it? Being loved by someone. It’s such an uncomfortable thing. And it’s rude when I specifically asked her not to.”

“It’s uncomfortable even for people who want it. It’s like holding your beating heart out in both hands and begging someone not to bruise it, and sometimes it’s more terror than anything else. But for those of us who want it…” Malcolm shrugged. He didn’t know how to explain. Especially when half the time, he thought Anjulie had the right of it. “It just is. You learn to live with it, and even embrace it.”

“Seong-Jae…” “Yes?” “You don’t have to hang up.” “But I do not have anything else to say.” “You don’t need to.” Malcolm smiled to himself, closing his eyes until it was just the dark and the sound of Seong-Jae’s breaths. “You don’t need to say a single word.” Seong-Jae sounded so uncertain of himself. So young. “Then we simply…stay?” “Yeah. It’s all right to just stay.”