A shot rings out in the dead of night and leaves two residents dead in the exclusive, gay gated housing community of Laurel Heights, an apparent murder/suicide, but not everyone is convinced.
Detectives Scott Turner and Will Harrison are sent undercover to dig beneath the surface and discover answers. There’s only one problem: Scott and Will are not out of the closet at work. Now they are two gay men, pretending to be straight, who must pretend to be gay in order to stop a murderer.
Will the two closeted officers be able to hide their attraction while believing the other is straight? And is the killer living among them waiting to claim his next victim?
The gated housing development of Laurel Heights was quiet in the early hours.
The houses were dark and their occupants asleep.
Nobody heard the muffled shot that rang out into the still of the night.
A shot, quickly followed by another.
Shots that left two members of their exclusive community dead.
* * * *
"Where are you going? It's two in the morning."
Will pulled his T-shirt back on and raked his fingers through his blond hair. "Early start tomorrow," he said picking up his wallet and his cell. Checking he'd not received any messages while he was otherwise engaged he shoved them both into his pocket, and sat on the edge of the bed to slip his feet into his boots. Will closed his eyes at the feel of soft lips feathering across the nape of his neck, warm breath lifting the strands of his short hair where it sat against his skin, and sighed. He hated this part, the leaving. Especially when the sex had been good, which it had. Ignoring the insistent pulling of impatient fingers at his shirt, he laced his boots and stood up.
"Do you want my number?"
"Sure," Will replied, taking out his cell. He moved his fingers over the pad and pretended to put the number recited to him into his contacts. He wasn't sure why they were going through this charade. The man staring up at him wasn't fooled by Will's actions, yet he continued to reel off the numbers. Pushing his cell back into his pocket, Will leaned down, ran a quick hand through curly blond hair, and kissed the offered lips. He pulled back before it could become anything more and crossed the room. Pausing in the doorway he raised a hand, scrabbling desperately for the guy's name and failing, so throwing a lame goodbye over his shoulder instead. At least he had the decency to blush slightly when the cold reply followed him out into the hall.
"It's Jack, asshole."
* * * *
Scott threw his head back, lost on a sea of sensation as he pounded relentlessly into the willing body beneath him. "Fuck, yes," he cried out when the heat around him tightened and he lost it. His orgasm pulsed through him and he thrust mindlessly, chasing the last of his pleasure. When his breathing had calmed enough to move, he grabbed the end of the condom and pulled out then turned to flush it down the toilet beside them. Club bathrooms were never exactly the easiest places to have sex in, but eyes across a crowded room and all that. Tucking himself back into his pants, Scott gasped as hands grabbed his face and turned him around into a searing kiss.
"My place?" The grey eyes gazing into his were hopeful.
Scott shook his head, his lips curving into a regretful smile. "I'm sorry, I have an early meeting," he replied, softening the dismissal with a kiss. "But I had fun; maybe we can do it again some time."
"Ah, so you're one of those guys who gets his rocks off and then isn't interested, huh?" The other man's tone was angry, as he glared up at Scott.
Scott's eyes hardened and he pulled himself up to his full height of almost six feet before unlocking the door of the stall. "I'm never interested in some twink who'll let me fuck him before I've even asked his name." Ignoring the stunned look on the other man's face, Scott walked out into the crowded bathroom, and kicked the stall door closed behind him. After quickly washing his hands, he ran his fingers through his short, black, sweat-dampened hair, and then made his way back out into the club.
Surrounded by a sea of writhing bodies, Scott looked at the illuminated hands of his watch and yawned when he saw that it was two in the morning. Lowering his head to avoid anyone mistaking a glance for a come on, he began to push his way through the throng toward the exit. Even though the guy in the bathroom had thought he was being blown off, he really did have an early start tomorrow. Outside in the cold New York air, he hailed the first cab he saw and clambered into the back.