[2: IF YOU LOVE ME, DON’T LET GO]

MALCOLM SUDDENLY HAD HIS ARMS full of a whirlwind of Seong-Jae, and he yelped as his partner’s weight tumbled him back to the bed. Seong-Jae kissed him fierce and hard, this breathless thing of tangled bodies and grasping hands, of lips that locked and crashed apart and came together again in a kiss that was half battle, half wildfire thing of mating heat, and yet more still…

Was the sheer raw intensity of it, as if Seong-Jae would impress on Malcolm the things he couldn’t say with every heated meeting of flesh to flesh.

He groaned, wrapping his arms around Seong-Jae, hauling that gorgeously lithe, powerful body fully atop him, sinking into the bed beneath the delicious pressure of Seong-Jae’s weight. Fuck, this was too much. He hadn’t been the one baring his soul, not this time…but to hear Seong-Jae struggling so much to control his emotions, to keep himself steady while giving Malcolm something so darkly sacred and waiting for him to either embrace it or crush it to pieces in cruel hands…

It had ripped at his heart, and he hadn’t known any way to show Seong-Jae how beautiful he was other than to embrace him.

Fully and completely, every last part of him.

But with Seong-Jae on top of him and pale golden skin sliding against him, kiss-bruised strawberry lips plush against his own…right now if Seong-Jae wasn’t careful they were going to end up postponing a very necessary conversation for at least another half-hour, because with every touch of those long fingers to his jaw or over his throat, every graze of teasing teeth…Malcolm was forgetting more and more how to think in coherent words.

Gasping, he broke back, parting their lips and looking up at Seong-Jae. His partner—his lover, fuck he wanted to be able to say that—was panting, flushed, and the black of his eyes seemed to have expanded, this consuming darkness where so many fragile things swam, no longer quite so secret or so mysterious.

Malcolm smiled, reaching up to cradle Seong-Jae’s cheek in his palm. “Slow down there,” he teased softly. “You’re going to get my hopes up for round two.”

Seong-Jae blinked…then groaned, slumping down against Malcolm and burying his face in his chest. “Were you always this much of an oversexed asshole, or did you ripen with age?”

Laughing, Malcolm draped his arms loosely across Seong-Jae’s back. “Born this way.”

“Figures.”

Seong-Jae mumbled the word into his chest, and Malcolm’s smile only broadened as he looked down at the top of that messy shag of black hair. Was Seong-Jae hiding from him now?

“Hey,” he murmured, idly tracing his fingertip in a circle over Seong-Jae’s shoulder blade. “It’s all right. It is. You are who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Seong-Jae muttered something Malcolm couldn’t understand, so muffled he couldn’t even tell what language Seong-Jae was speaking before he growled, “I do not want to talk about it anymore.”

“Then you don’t have to.” Malcolm chuckled. “But…Seong-Jae?”

After a moment, one wary eye peeked past Seong-Jae’s hair. “…yes?”

“Thank you,” Malcolm said. “For trusting me with that part of yourself.”

Seong-Jae blinked again. Then scowled.

Before that one visible eye disappeared again as he practically ground his face into Malcolm’s chest.

“Mmph.”

Sighing fondly, Malcolm reached over to catch the disarrayed sheets and duvet, and dragged them over their tangled bodies. “Indeed,” he said, and was content to let things lie for now.

It felt almost surreal, to be sprawled out in his bed with Seong-Jae naked and spent atop him, willingly and comfortably wrapped up with him; after a few minutes Seong-Jae shifted his position to pillow his cheek against Malcolm’s chest instead, one arm creeping up around his neck and fingers toying into his hair. Secretly Malcolm wondered if, lying like this, Seong-Jae’s feet were hanging off the foot of the bed, but he thought it rather prudent to keep his mouth shut.

Though he might have to look into getting a bigger bed.

He was probably getting ahead of himself. This entire night had been such an emotional hurricane, between finding Tisha Jones, discovering Seong-Jae liked to sing at nightclubs, and then somehow the two of them tumbling into bed in this combustion of energy like two galaxies colliding into one. He was more than physically wrung out; he was emotionally drained, felt like if any one part of him was tugged on too hard, the whole would deflate into a sagging mess.

But he kept falling back into that moment. That wonder when he saw Seong-Jae come out on stage, and felt that squeezing in his heart that left no lingering doubt that what he felt for Seong-Jae was more than just attraction.

How the hell had he tripped into falling this fast, this hard, for such a prickly, sharp-edged knife of a man?

One made up of so many contradictions, and yet the more Malcolm found out…

The more he craved to know.

Even if his brain was still a little broken from Seong-Jae the nightingale, on stage seducing an entire room with his voice.

And his thighs in those tight leather pants.

He couldn’t help laughing to himself. “I can’t believe you sing,” he murmured, breaking the lazy silence between them. “And you’re good at it. I love your voice.”

Seong-Jae didn’t move, practically draped atop Malcolm like a boneless cat, his eyes closed and his voice drowsy. “Please do not flatter me.”

“I can’t be honest?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame.” Malcolm let his gaze drift over the rafters of the ceiling, while he continued walking quiet, idle patterns over Seong-Jae’s back with his fingertips, following the dips and slopes of tightly toned muscle, finding the change in texture with different scars, some long and narrow and almost waxy-smooth, others rougher and irregular, one or two the particular sunken pucker he recognized as a healed bullet wound. “Still. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Mm.” Just a soft thrumming sound of affirmative, before the tickle of Seong-Jae’s lashes against his bare chest drew Malcolm to look down at him as Seong-Jae opened his eyes. “I started in rehab,” he admitted quietly. “Karaoke nights at the center. It…was something to distract us. To help us bond over something other than suffering through withdrawals and cravings and self-loathing.” That normally flat, dry voice was edged with a touch of bitterness…but warmth, too. Self-deprecating amusement. “They had to drag me up there the first time. And the second time. And the third.”

“But you enjoyed it.” And Malcolm couldn’t help grinning; he could picture it, Seong-Jae young and lanky and scowling as someone shoved him out in front of everyone and pushed a mic into his hand. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“I did. More than I had any right to.” Seong-Jae shifted to fold his arms across Malcolm’s pectorals, then propped his chin on his crossed wrists, half-lidded eyes regarding Malcolm lazily. “Since then it has become something that centers me. If I need calm, if I need equilibrium, or even if I simply want to let go of the baggage of both the best and worst cases…I find somewhere with an open mic and a little free time.”

“And it just so happens we have the same tastes.” Malcolm trailed a curled knuckle down Seong-Jae’s cheek—and reveled in the fact that Seong-Jae let him, instead of hissing and batting him away. “Peggy Lee, huh?”

“I like…” Seong-Jae frowned, gaze darkening. “I do not know how to explain what I like. There is at once sensuality and pragmatism, and…”

He trailed off, but Malcolm couldn’t stop watching him when there was color climbing his cheeks and turning ivory and amber skin into rose gold.

“…and you’re blushing,” he finished. “You’re blushing.”

Narrowed eyes flung him a deadly look. “Malcolm?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Any other time Malcolm would have heeded the warning shake of the rattlesnake’s tail, but now he just grinned wider when he’d take whatever poison Seong-Jae wanted to give him.

“Not this time,” he said. “What’s your favorite song to perform?”

Seong-Jae rolled his eyes with an offended little sound. “Seriously?”

“Yes. C’mon. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes? Is That All There Is?”

Another slit-eyed look, before Seong-Jae grumped, looked away, and muttered, “…A-YO.”

“I don’t think that’s Peggy Lee.”

“It is Lady Gaga,” Seong-Jae huffed in offended tones, and Malcolm had to bite his tongue to keep from bursting out laughing and possibly getting smacked for it.

“You are so, so gay.”

“Yes, I am.” Seong-Jae scowled at him. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Malcolm said—then leaned up to brush his lips to Seong-Jae’s. He couldn’t help himself; Seong-Jae tempted him by breathing, and it wasn’t even about sex; about desire.

It was just about…wanting to be in contact, to feel the warmth of skin to skin.

Seong-Jae leaned into him for a few moments, parted lips teasing against his, before he pulled back with an amused sigh. “Do not start. No round two.”

Malcolm smirked and settled his hands on Seong-Jae’s hips. “I wasn’t trying anything, I swear.”

“I do not believe you.”

“You’re on top of me. If I was hard, you’d be able to feel it.”

Seong-Jae wrinkled his nose. “Must you be so crass?”

“It’s just anatomy. But I’ll refrain for your delicate sensibilities.”

“I will hurt you.”

I think it’s the other way around, Malcolm thought, memory rising: Seong-Jae underneath him, thighs gripping his hips, and Malcolm asking Am I hurting you too much? Only for Seong-Jae to gasp, Not enough.

Fuck. There it was. That rising throb in his cock, hot and hungry, and he tried to think about rainbows and puppies and kittens but it wasn’t quite fast enough to spare him Seong-Jae going tense against him, glaring, and pressing one angular fingertip to his nose.

“No.”

“I can’t help it.” Malcolm snapped his teeth at that finger. “You do things to me.”

“You do not do things to me.”

“Liar.”

“Half-truth.” Seong-Jae tapped the tip of his nose. “You know it is more complex than that for me.”

“I know,” Malcolm said, and this time instead of trying to bite Seong-Jae’s fingertip, he kissed it. “I do. And I’m keeping it in mind. Though it’s…it’s a lot to carry. Knowing every time we have sex, it’s…”

He trailed off. He didn’t know how to explain it, and maybe it wasn’t his to explain when it was Seong-Jae’s sexuality, his need for emotional investment to make any form of sexual attraction even possible.

But “It is not,” Seong-Jae said with a patiently exasperated sigh; he pushed himself up enough to look down at Malcolm, his mussed hair falling across his eyes. “I am capable of casual sex, Malcolm. Simply not with casual partners. It is possible for me to simply desire you for the sake of desiring you, without requiring a grand emotional expression each time—as long as it is you. That is not quite how gray demisexuality works.”

“Sorry. Sorry, sex has just…it’s…” Malcolm smiled sheepishly. “I made it casual. I needed it to be casual, always. I’ve had times when it meant something, but I’ve been working so hard to make it meaningless.”

Dark eyes flicked over his face, searching. “Was this meaningless?”

“No. No, it wasn’t.” Fuck, if anything this was too much, its weight almost crushing, but he didn’t want to break free. “God, no. I…I’m completely fucked up.”

Inscrutable, almost alien, those unreadable eyes studied him—yet that was part of what made Seong-Jae so alluring. That dangerous edge of something impassive and strange that made him such a cipher…and yet when you learned to look, the little things gave him away.

Like the fact that he was biting the inside of his lower lip, drawing its succulence into his mouth.

And the fact that he was blushing.

Again.

“Over me?” Seong-Jae asked softly.

“Over you.”

“That is almost flattering.” Seong-Jae arched a brow, cocking his head. “Malcolm…all that my sexuality means is that I have little interest in sex outside of specific parameters. Those parameters involve a cisgender or transgender man or masculine-presenting nonbinary person, an emotional attachment to that person, and eventually a resultant blooming sexual attraction. So that even a…what is the English word? A quicker?”

“Quickie,” Malcolm corrected, laughing under his breath. “Stop pretending you don’t know words you don’t like.”

Seong-Jae scrunched his nose. “It is a distasteful and inelegant word. But the point is, even a ‘quickie’ would not be meaningless, but it does not require any special ceremony, either.”

“So…” Malcolm arched both brows. “If I drag you into an empty office and have my way with you over a desk and then go about our day like nothing happened, it’s okay as long as it’s me.”

“Yes.” Black eyes flashed, snapping. “But the first time you try anything at work will also be the last.”

“Oh?”

“I am not above castration.”

“Ouch.” Malcolm just grinned. “Proper work boundaries. Got it.”

“You do not.”

“You know me too well.” Malcolm let his gaze drift down, tracing over the hardened sculpture of Seong-Jae’s chest, then reached up to finger a slashed, faded scar just below one nipple. “I won’t break the rule until you do. Deal?”

“You say ‘until’ as if it is a foregone conclusion,” Seong-Jae scoffed, only to scowl when Malcolm just smiled. “Malcolm.”

“I won’t do anything!” he protested. “…not even if you want me to.”

“You are an arrogant ass.”

“Better than a jot.”

Seong-Jae blinked, cocking his head quizzically. “No. Jot.”

It didn’t sound any different to Malcolm, but he tried again, slower this time. “Jot.”

“No,” Seong-Jae insisted. “You are stressing the wrong syllable. Jot.”

“It’s only one syllable!”

“And you are still stressing it wrong. Jot,” Seong-Jae repeated firmly.

“Jot. Jot,” Malcolm emphasized. “Better?”

Seong-Jae stared at him.

Then dissolved into laughter, husky and deep and rolling, this unfettered and quiet thing that transformed his entire face, lighting his eyes bright and softening his lips into pure sweetness, smoothing his sharp edges until Malcolm’s heart seized just to look at him. Especially when he ducked his head, pressing his face into his palm and laughing into it, peeking out through his fingers with his dark hair tangled in tufts around his fingertips.

God, Malcolm didn’t want morning to come.

When this would have to end, and they would have to be cold and logical and entirely focused on work once more.

“I’ve never seen you laugh like that before,” he murmured.

Seong-Jae slowly subsided with an amused sigh, but that laughter lingered in the glitter in his eyes and the dimples at the corners of his mouth. “We are having an entire conversation about the proper way to pronounce ‘dick.’”

“We are,” Malcolm agreed. “But I’m serious, Seong-Jae. If you have certain parameters…if there’s something you need me to do to make you comfortable, tell me?”

Seong-Jae went oddly still, just looking at Malcolm strangely, before he said, “Ask me.” He paused, before continuing more hesitantly, “I do not mind spontaneous kissing, or idle physical affection such as an embrace or light touch. But before touching me with deliberate sexual intent, unless I have initiated myself…ask me.”

“I’ll ask even if you have initiated. In case you want to touch, but don’t want to be touched back.” Malcolm couldn’t seem to stop smiling. He was seeing so many facets of Seong-Jae tonight, and he was so fucking spellbound. “Tell me where it’s okay to touch you, Seong-Jae. Or show me.”

Seong-Jae’s lips parted; he ducked his head with a gruff sound. “I…I will.”

“Are you all right?”

“This is…new,” Seong-Jae confessed. “Someone asking me. I…I stopped dating, primarily because this became a difficult conversation to have. I began to feel very alienated and…” He made a frustrated sound. “Not once did anyone ask me what my boundaries were regarding when and how sexual contact is welcomed.”

“Then they were assholes,” Malcolm growled. “I mean I’m an asshole, but I’ll try not to be an asshole about that.” He scowled. “Would you hate me if I hunted down every last one of your ex-boyfriends and punched them in the face?”

Seong-Jae stared at him with slightly widened eyes—then smiled, sinking down against him once more and brushing his lips to Malcolm’s. “That may actually be a parameter where sexual contact is welcomed.”

Malcolm laughed, lingering to ply at Seong-Jae’s lips for a deeper taste, for just a moment—just enough to sate that growing craving, before he sank back to the bed, exhaling slowly.

“So…this is us.”

Seong-Jae relaxed atop him once more, regarding him thoughtfully. “It is.”

“At least that…we both want there to be an us.” Malcolm hesitated. “Do we?”

“We do.” Seong-Jae’s lips curled at the corners. “Are you uncertain of yourself with me, Malcolm?”

“All the time,” he admitted. “You’re confusing and complex and completely fucking enthralling, and every time I think I know you, you completely turn me around.”

“But you do know me. Better than anyone has in a very long time.”

“But not all of you.”

Seong-Jae inclined his head. “We could work on that, with time.”

“Do we have time?”

“Yes,” Seong-Jae said after a long moment of consideration. “I hope we do.”

Such simple words…and yet they cemented something. That for now, while they tentatively explored what this was between them, Seong-Jae was Malcolm’s…and Malcolm was Seong-Jae’s, as they figured out where they wanted to go with this. If they wanted it to go anywhere at all. Though right now the only place Malcolm wanted to go was into Seong-Jae’s arms, as he pushed himself up to steal a kiss when he had no words for the warmth inside him, the hope that had seemed so hard to grasp on to for so many years, now suddenly within reach.

But even as Seong-Jae leaned into him, swaying closer, their lips almost touching…

A loud vibrating buzz came from the direction of Seong-Jae’s leather pants.

Followed by a painfully screeching trill from Malcolm’s slacks pocket.

They both groaned in tandem, Malcolm slumping back to the bed while Seong-Jae thudded his forehead to Malcolm’s breastbone.

“Oh, God,” Malcolm muttered.

“For fuck’s sake,” Seong-Jae hissed. “It has not even been eight hours.”

“Death doesn’t sleep, so we’ll sleep when we’re dead,” Malcolm sighed, wriggling a hand into the tangle of their bodies to try to find his pocket.

Seong-Jae pushed up, glancing toward his pants. “There is only one reason why both our phones would go off at the same time.”

“I know. I know.” Malcolm managed to extract his phone and eyed the time. Just after three in the fucking morning, and he grumbled as he swiped the lock screen.

New case, white female, 17, pulled from the Patapsco. Meet me at the office.

Weird. He frowned, dropping his phone and continuing, “I’m just not in the mood for dead bodies right now when I’m more interested in the very live one in my bed.”

Seong-Jae tumbled to his feet gracefully, that alert, dangerous energy already flooding through him. “I will pull rank to get you into your clothing.”

“That’s kind of hot.”

“…Malcolm.” Seong-Jae paused in reaching for the shirt crumpled on the floor and gave Malcolm a flat look. “Is this what you are going to be like from here on out?”

“Yep.”

“Insufferable, and I hate you.”

Malcolm half-smiled, propping himself up on one elbow and watching for a moment as Seong-Jae shrugged back into his t-shirt and that handkerchief that barely qualified as boxer-briefs. “No, I really think you don’t.”

Seong-Jae just made a disdainful sound, rolling his eyes, while Malcolm rolled himself wearily out of bed. He felt heavier, right now, and not even the lightness of his heart could ease the weight of exhaustion making him slow as he tucked himself away, zipped up, and picked out his discarded undershirt out of the many little islands of crumpled clothing on the floor. They dressed in silence, and Malcolm bit his tongue on his amusement at watching Seong-Jae wriggle back into those pants, bouncing on his toes to actually force the skin-tight leather over his hips, before zipping up and shrugging back into Malcolm’s borrowed linen shirt.

Malcolm at least put on a fresh button-down, snagging one from the wardrobe, before slipping on his suit coat. As he adjusted his cufflinks and Seong-Jae dropped onto the edge of the bed to shove his feet into his boots, though, Seong-Jae looked up, catching his eye.

“We should talk later,” he murmured.

“We should.” Malcolm settled next to Seong-Jae, shoulder to shoulder, to slip on his dress shoes. “I won’t pretend this won’t be tricky. Finding my edges, finding yours, finding both of ours. The whole work part of it.” He leaned over and nudged Seong-Jae with his shoulder. “We’ll sit down when we get a moment to breathe.”

“Do we ever get that?”

“…no.” Malcolm smiled faintly. “We’ll make the time anyway.”

Seong-Jae said nothing, only studying Malcolm closely, a slight knit between his brows. When he lifted a hand to reach for him, it was with a hesitation that seemed to ask permission—and Malcolm willingly gave that permission, leaning into Seong-Jae’s touch as those perfect fingers threaded into his hair, luxuriant and soothing.

“When was the last time you truly slept?” Seong-Jae asked.

“I don’t know. You?”

“I do not know, either.”

“Then I am driving,” Seong-Jae said firmly.

Malcolm had started to close his eyes, but now he blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because I have at least had a nap.” Seong-Jae pulled back with one last lingering stroke. “And I do not trust you behind the wheel of a car right now.”

“…fair enough.” Malcolm stood, straightening his coat and tie. “I wish we’d had time for a shower before we left.”

“I do not,” Seong-Jae retorted flatly, and brushed Malcolm’s hands aside to smooth his tie. “If only because you would have wanted to shower together, and that would have made us very late.”

“See? You do know me pretty damned well.” He grinned and tossed his head toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go see what the Captain wants.”

^

THE ONLY REASON MALCOLM didn’t fall asleep on the predawn drive to the office was because Seong-Jae drove like he was operating a getaway car, and the cops were hot on their tails.

Malcolm didn’t think Seong-Jae realized a Camaro was not a Harley, and the only reason he didn’t white-knuckle the entire damned trip was because the roads were empty at this time of night.

He didn’t breathe easy until they were parked at Central HQ and taking the stairs up to the homicide bullpen. He wasn’t surprised to see the lights on, a few others at their desks; there was no such thing as regular hours in their department, and they went where and when the cases—and coffee—took them.

But the Captain most definitely looked like she had a little too much blood in her coffee stream, when they ducked into her office; she was sitting on top of her desk again, shoes kicked off, scrubbing her fingers through her short-cropped hair until it was like a black-spiked dandelion clock spraying out around her walnut-brown face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, watering, her nose red from rubbing. She didn’t even look up as Malcolm knocked on the door; just flicked two fingers impatiently, gaze scanning rapidly across the pages in her hand.

“In,” Anjulie Zarate y Salazar ordered. “Close the door.”

Malcolm exchanged a glance with Seong-Jae, then obligingly stepped inside, moving aside to make room for Seong-Jae before nudging the door shut. Anjulie lifted her head, snapping a look over them, before freezing; her eyes narrowed, and she stared at them penetratingly for several moments.

Then smacked a hand over her face.

“Oh, goddammit. You fucked.”

Malcolm tensed. “What? No!” At her flat look, he cringed. “…maybe. How could you tell?”

“You’re not the only cop in the room, Malcolm.” She snorted. “Besides, you’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, he’s still wearing your shirt and your jacket, you’re still wearing the same suit minus the shirt, and you practically reek of fuck mist, so I’m guessing the two of you just defiled your bed, making it convenient since you live closer to the office than he does.” She shot a withering glance at Seong-Jae. More specifically, the expanse of his neck visible past the neck of the black leather racing jacket. “Also, hickeys. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Utterly implacable, standing there calmly with his hands in his pockets, Seong-Jae lofted both brows. “It would seem we have been entirely obvious to everyone but ourselves.”

“Just don’t let it get in the way of your work,” she flung back, and

“I assure you, we will not,” Seong-Jae retorted coolly.

That near-murderous look transferred to Malcolm, Anjulie’s brown eyes snapping. “Malcolm.”

“What?” He held both hands up, biting back his irritation. Why was his sex life still everyone’s business? “I won’t.”

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically—then broke off in a sharp sneeze, pressing the back of her hand over her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut before rubbing them with a bleary sound.

Malcolm eyed her. “You okay?”

She grunted, opening one eye, still rubbing at the other. “Anya gave me my damned dog back.”

“…why did she take him in the first place?”

Seong-Jae glanced at him. Anya? he mouthed.

Ex-girlfriend, Malcolm mouthed back, before Anjulie growled.

“Eh. We thought it would be better with my allergies, and her separation issues.” A dark smile curled her lips. “Turns out she’s not the only one with separation issues. He pissed all over her stuff.”

“You don’t sound very unhappy about that,” Malcolm said dryly.

“…he’s a cute dog. Shut up.”

“The case,” Seong-Jae interjected firmly. “Why are we meeting here, rather than at the crime scene?”

“Because we don’t have a specific crime scene yet, and I wanted to talk face to face before sending you out there,” Anjulie said. “This is a sensitive case. The victim’s not dead, but she doesn’t have long, either. Her parents are basically standing vigil, but they’ll be the only window you have into her life, so be gentle.”

Malcolm sobered, folding his arms over his chest with a frown. “What are we dealing with?”

Anjulie bent over to rummage in a stack of folders under her ankle until she extracted one and passed it over. Malcolm flipped it open, leaning in closer to Seong-Jae so they could both look. Preliminary report was just the EMTs’ logs from finding her body in the river after a passing driver noticed her floating and called it in, and successfully reviving her but not restoring consciousness. A few photos from the scene were clipped to the terse pages—a waifish girl with long, rippling pale brown hair, her skin death-white with a blue tinge to her lips, veins visible snaking across a somewhat sunken face. Various wounds covered her body, what looked like cuts and scrapes, but with her pallor and the quick, clumsy high-flash photographs against a dark backdrop it was hard to tell if they happened before she drowned or were the result of bumping against flotsam and jetsam in the river currents.

“Her name’s Keri Anne Newton,” Anjulie said crisply. “Goes by Anne. She’s seventeen. Ran away from home three months ago, or so her parents thought; she took things, clothes and personal effects and her phone, and deleted all her social media—so they assumed she left of her own free will and didn’t want to be found, though they never stopped looking. Now we’re not so sure her grand exodus was voluntary.” She fished out another folder and passed it over; Seong-Jae took it this time, and Malcolm glanced over as he opened it and paged through. “Here’s the missing persons case file on her. They found nothing, until first responders pulled her out of the river a few hour ago. They’d thought she was a suicide, until she spoke.”

Malcolm jerked his head up. “What did she say?”

“‘He pushed me,’” Anjulie said gravely.

No one said anything. Malcolm and Seong-Jae glanced at each other once more, before Seong-Jae broke the silence. “Nothing else?”

“No.” Anjulie shook her head. “According to the EMTs she passed out again shortly after, and at Mercy Medical they declared her brain dead without enough recoverable function for any quality of life. She’s hanging on by a thread, but sometimes she still says it without even waking up. ‘He pushed me.’ That’s it.”

Malcolm swore. “Unless she’s able to say more than that, I don’t know what we’ve got to go on. We don’t even know where she was pushed from?”

“No. Best guess is a bridge, but…”

“…could’ve been the Hanover, Thomas, or Francis Scott Key,” Malcolm finished grimly. “Depends on how far the current dragged her, and that’s assuming she wasn’t pushed from the bank.”

“Exactly.” Anjulie sighed. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’ll make the parents feel better to know we’re doing something. So I’d like the two of you to at least go to the hospital, talk to them, see if it turns up anything useful. Can you do that?”

Seong-Jae nodded, snapping the folder closed sharply. “Of course.”

“Yeah,” Malcolm echoed. “We’ve got this. You got anything else for us?”

“Just that their names are Patricia and Scott Newton. You’ll find them in the CCU.”

Malcolm didn’t know how he kept a straight face. “…Scott, huh.”

“Murder you in your sleep,” Seong-Jae hissed under his breath.

Anjulie eyed them. “This?” She flicked her fingers between them. “I don’t want to know what this is about. Get out of my office.”

Malcolm snapped off a tired salute, while Seong-Jae just glared. “Yes, Ma’am,” Malcolm said.

“Fuck you, and get out.”

Malcolm just tucked the case report under his arm, turned around, and marched out with Seong-Jae on his heels.

“Even the Captain finds you insufferable,” Seong-Jae muttered at his back as they clattered down the stairs.

“Just part of my charm,” Malcolm threw back, trying to find the energy for a smile and failing.

Not even one night.

Not even one night to just…enjoy the afterglow.

And the fact that Seong-Jae was walking with a tiny hint of a limp.

They settled back into the Camaro—but before Seong-Jae could start the car, Malcolm reached over and rested his hand to his wrist.

“Hey,” he asked. “Before we have to go out there and be cops…can I kiss you?”

Seong-Jae eyed him. “That question is how tonight’s ill-advised escapade began.”

“I’ll be good,” Malcolm promised. “I just really, really want to kiss you.”

He didn’t recall it being this easy to make Seong-Jae blush, even if that scowl was back in full force, black and grouchy as ever. “Why?”

“Because.” Malcolm grinned. “I’m high on the fact that I can.”

Seong-Jae looked roughly two seconds away from biting him.

Before he caught Malcolm’s tie, wrapped it around his fist, and dragged him in to kiss him.

Swift, hot, needy, a sharp thing full of roughness and passion and almost vengeful frustration, as if Seong-Jae could punish Malcolm for being so insufferable by kissing it right out of him, wrapping him up in a rush of sensation and pleasure and underneath it all a deep, wonderful rush of emotion. Seong-Jae tasted like perfection, his mouth a lush and candied thing that Malcolm couldn’t help biting to ripeness, and he would have happily stayed like this for hours if Seong-Jae hadn’t let go of his tie and pushed him firmly back.

“There,” Seong-Jae growled, glaring at him with his lips red and wet, before huffing and snapping the key in the ignition so hard it was a miracle it didn’t break right off.

Malcolm just smiled and settled into the passenger’s seat, tilting his head against the window.

Not a bad way to start the day.

Not a bad way at all.