Chloe squealed in alarm.

“Father!” shouted Marcus, dropping to his knees beside Jarrett’s prone figure.

Griff stared at the ring of stricken faces. “Call 911!” he yelled.

* * *

The ambulance had come and gone.

As had the coroner’s wagon.

The police were presumably still prowling the stately halls of Winden House. After being thoroughly questioned, Pierce and Griff, along with the other guests, had finally been allowed to leave.

Pierce had been on the phone since they’d left the estate. Ordinarily Griff would have been too. He had an exclusive on one of the biggest crime stories in the country and he was just lying here watching Pierce, cell in hand and clad only in pale blue silk pajama bottoms, stalk up and down the football field of his bedroom. But Griff had been through a police investigation before. It was different being on the inside. Even when everyone agreed you had nothing to do with it, told you not to blame yourself.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Pierce said crisply. He disconnected and set his phone on the bedside table. “Jarrett suffered a mild heart attack,” he told Griff. “They think he’s got a good chance of pulling through.”

Griff nodded. He wasn’t convinced of that. Jarrett had been living for Brian’s return, and now that dream had been taken from him.

Pierce climbed into bed beside Griff. “I guess this is proof you were right,” he said wearily. “Whoever got Brian out of the way the first time wasn’t about to sit still for his triumphant return from the grave.”

“I don’t know, Pierce. I’m still not convinced that Brian’s kidnapping is linked to Alvin’s murder.” In fact, Griff was almost sure the two crimes weren’t connected. Slowly, blindly, he had been feeling his way to this revelation from the moment he had arrived at Winden House. But how the hell could he begin to explain to Pierce? Pierce was going to think he was crazy. Or that he was another conman like Leland Alvin. He might even think Griff had a motive for murder.

Because this time it was murder. Of that, there was no doubt. On that score everyone was agreed. They would have to wait for the Medical Examiner’s official report, but preliminary findings indicated that between five and seven o’clock that evening, a person or persons unknown had repeatedly and fatally struck the man believed to be Brian Arlington over the head with a fireplace poker.

Pierce frowned. “I don’t know how you can stick to that theory in the face of everything that happened tonight.”

Griff sidestepped. “Because they were all so happy and relieved at Brian’s return. With the exception of Chloe, and Chloe couldn’t have had anything to do with Brian’s disappearance. She was a baby.”

“Are you saying you think Chloe killed Alvin?”

“What I’m saying is, Chloe was the only one who didn’t believe Alvin was Brian. The others did believe it, and they were happy. Heck, they were joyful. I don’t believe anybody was faking that joy.”

“So you do think Chloe killed him.”

“She doesn’t have a motive. She didn’t believe he was Brian.”

Pierce gave a disbelieving laugh. “That’s no alibi. Jarrett was changing his will in Alvin’s favor. So fake or not, Alvin was going to inherit everything. Which I think may have considerably reduced the universal joy at Brian’s return.” Pierce took his watch off and set it on the nightstand. “Maybe this is going to sound brutal, but Jarrett brought some of this on himself by changing the terms of the will so many times. For the last decade Muriel, Mike and Marcus all believed they were splitting the estate three ways. Not to mention all the other behests and bequests in that will. Then suddenly it’s all going back to Brian. I told Jarrett I thought he was making a mistake.”

“That’s the problem with that kind of money.”

Pierce looked at him. “I call bullshit,” he said. “We both know there are people out there who will cut your throat for lunch money. There is no specific dollar amount that turns people into killers.”

“You don’t think everyone has a price?”

“Do you have a price? What’s your price?”

“My price isn’t money.”

Pierce studied him for a moment. He smiled faintly. “I believe you.” He said lightly, “Do you want to know what my price is?”

“Yes.”

Pierce’s eyes darkened. He reached for Griff and Griff was happy to respond. He wrapped his arms around Pierce’s broad back and opened his mouth to Pierce’s tongue. Pierce kissed him deeply, sweetly, and Griff’s heart seemed to melt in his chest. Already this felt so familiar, so natural, so right.

He could taste the words as Pierce whispered, “Would you want to...? Would you let me?”

Griff swallowed so hard his throat hurt as though he had gulped down river rock, and the sound that came out was an inarticulate moan. Yes. Of course yes.

Pierce covered his mouth, pushing Griff’s pliant weight into the mattress. Griff arched up, Pierce slammed back and for a minute they were awkwardly out of sync, Griff zigging, Pierce zagging, the knock and poke of knees and hip bones and ribs where there should have been hot flesh and hard muscle.

Pierce made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, pulling back, and Griff moaned again, only this time in frustration.

“I’m right here,” Pierce said breathlessly. Which sounded promising but was not exactly accurate since he was moving away, groping for the bedstand drawer, rifling through its contents.

“Pierce.”

“Coming...”

“Well, you’re the only one who is.” Griff’s hand moved to his cock, stroking comfortingly.

Pierce laughed and flung himself down. “Don’t start without me.” He tore open the condom packet and Griff watched, fascinated, as Pierce pulled the flesh-colored hood over his thick, rigid cock. It gave him a fluttery feeling in his belly knowing in seconds Pierce was going to be inside him, was going to fuck him.

Pierce’s lashes lifted. He met Griff’s eyes and he smiled with such unguarded affection that Griff’s heart ached. Pierce unscrewed the cap from the tube he held, and Griff got a whiff of something than reminded him of vacations, a faint woodsy scent with a hint of orange and sandalwood.

“That’s nice,” he said huskily.

Pierce nodded. “Lift your knees.”

Griff obeyed, bringing his knees up, stretching out his arms, waiting, eyes closed. He felt the coolness of the lubricant first and then the first delicate brush of Pierce’s fingertip pushing into his anus. His heart hammered against his ribs. Just this, the feel of Pierce’s finger entering his body, was almost unbearably exciting. His own cock was painfully hard, bobbing against his belly. Pierce touched him with bone-melting expertise, knowing the exact place that made Griff catch his breath and bear down.

Pierce said, “Do you like this?”

Griff nodded frantically.

Pierce said, his voice soft, the words startlingly frank, “I like watching your face when I do this to you. I like the way your throat moves and I like those little quivers your eyelashes make when I do this.” He pressed the spongy nub of Griff’s prostate and Griff gave another of those ragged gasps.

“Pierce...”

“And that. I like that too. The way you say my name. And I like watching my finger moving inside and out of you. Your skin is so pale. Except for that little pink circle. There. I like the weight of your balls resting against my hand.”

Levi had done a lot of talking during sex, but Griff realized now that Levi had never really said anything. Maybe that was why he had never been able to come up with the answers Levi wanted. He had never completely understood the question. Now Griff’s entire body felt flushed and alive with a mix of physical response and pleasurable confusion as Pierce spoke to him, touched him with silky-slick fingers. It was almost dizzying to have this much attention focused on him. Appreciative attention, that was the difference. Who knew appreciation could be an aphrodisiac?