His expression must have revealed some of his uncertainty because Ben’s eyes narrowed. He demanded, “Wait. Are you seeing someone?”
“No. Ben. Come on.”
Ben’s expression only grew harder and more suspicious. “But you’re interested in someone? That’s it. Who? Is it Flint Carey?”
“Flint?” Zach goggled with genuine amazement. “Flint Carey? That-that wannabe Magnum PI? Are you serious?”
“I notice you’re not answering.”
“I’m not interested in Flint Carey. No way. I can’t think of anyone I’m less interested in. Or who would be less interested in me.”
Ben didn’t reply. He continued to study Zach as though waiting for the moment when he could jab his finger and burst out, “AH-HA!”
But it seemed the moment never came, so maybe he did, unwillingly, believe Zach’s protestations.
Zach said, “Ben, I don’t want to argue. It’s late. I’ve still got to pack. Can we—”
Mistake.
“Pack for what? Where are you going?” Ben questioned, his gaze boring into Zach’s.
The temptation to yell, None of your goddamned business! was powerful, but Zach managed a relatively mild, “It’s work-related. I’m sorry, but I can’t go into it with you.”
“Since when? You’re not a secret agent, you know!”
“Ben.”
“Are you going for the weekend?”
“Ben, will you stop?”
Ben was unfazed. “Who’s going to take care of Mr. Bigglesworth?”
“Mr. B. is staying with Mom and Brooke for the weekend.”
“He can stay with me.”
“It’s already arranged. He’s staying with—”
“Why can’t he stay with me?” Ben interrupted. “I love him. He loves me. He’s lived most of his life in the condo.”
“No.” Zach didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but he’d hit his breaking point. “No. It’s already arranged.”
Ben shook his head as though once again Zach was fulfilling his worst expectations. “As usual, it’s just about what’s convenient for you. What you want. Nobody else’s feelings matter. Mr. B.’s feelings don’t matter to you.”
“Mr. B. loves Brooke and my mom, too.” Zach bit back the rest of it. Was he really going to stand here arguing about who the cat—his cat, for the record—loved more? No. He wasn’t. This whole exchange simply underlined why he and Ben no longer worked.
He’d hoped at one point they could stay friends, but that looked less and less likely.
He moved toward the front door, saying, “Maybe another time, okay?”
“Sure.” The word was terse and unfriendly.
Ben followed him to the door, which Zach opened onto a chilly October night.
Not looking at him, not speaking, Ben brushed past Zach, going down the three little steps and cutting a diagonal across the straggly square of lawn.
“Good night, Ben,” Zach said quietly.
He didn’t expect, nor receive, a reply.
Chapter Five
“What made you decide to become a PI?”
It was Sunday morning, and Zach and Alton were having a lazy, luxurious breakfast on the mostly empty patio of Roy’s at Pebble Beach. The off-season chill was dispersed by strategically placed heat lamps and firepit tables. Over country omelets and Keoke coffee (a decadent concoction of Kahlúa, brandy, crème de cacao, and coffee), Alton read the Wall Street Journal and Zach played Wordle and enjoyed the breathtaking view of ocean and golf links—or at least what could be seen of them through the mist.
Glancing up from his phone, Zach smiled ruefully. “Too much TV at an early age?”
Alton snorted, but returned the smile.
“Forgive me, but you seem a little…refined to be a PI.”
“Is refined code for gay?” Zach inquired.
Alton looked momentarily self-conscious. “No. Not at all. I meant you seem…educated.”
Zach shrugged. “I finished college with a degree in accounting. I have my CPA license.”
“A CPA? Now I am surprised.” Actually, Alton looked more thoughtful than surprised.
This was the first glimmer of personal interest he’d shown since he’d arrived in his chauffeured Bentley Mulsanne to pick Zach up on Friday evening. That wasn’t to say that Alton hadn’t been polite and pleasant over the course of the weekend. He had been unfailingly polite and indifferently pleasant. But it was clear to Zach he’d been relegated to the role of background actor from the minute he slid into the back seat of that Bentley.
Which probably made sense. From Alton’s viewpoint, Zach was largely there for show. From Zach’s viewpoint, spending the weekend at Pebble Beach was mostly slowing his investigation into who might want Alton out of the way. He’d tried bringing this point up to Alton on the drive from Ensenada del Sello, but Alton had dismissed Zach’s concerns. Alton’s immediate priority was to create the illusion that he and Zach were romantically involved.
Given that Alton believed Zora was behind the death threats, maybe he imagined that convincing her he was actually gay was the fastest way to diffuse her anger and desire to see him punished? Zach could understand and sympathize where Alton was coming from, but he thought the hope for a quick and painless resolution was misplaced. Not least because it was hard to imagine that anyone watching them together over the past thirty-six hours would be fooled into thinking they were intimate, let alone in love.
Alton was a little bit of what Pop would have called a cold fish.
Not that Zach wanted anything else from his employer—yeesh!—but this charade wasn’t going to fool anyone, especially someone who presumably knew Alton as well as his wife did. Of course, this was only a practice run, and the few people they had run into so far were business acquaintances of Alton’s, like the trio of potential investors he’d spent most of Saturday with on the links.
To Zach’s bafflement—and frustration—he had not been included in the day’s golfing. Alton had explained that his chauffeur, Chico Martinez, was also his bodyguard, so it made more sense for Chico, in the guise of caddy, to accompany him. Zach had been handed a roll of bills and told to amuse himself for the afternoon. He had also received instructions to mention my boyfriend Alton as much as possible.
Which was idiotic. If he and Alton were really having an illicit affair, the last thing Zach would be doing was name-dropping his sugar daddy everywhere. Alton had bad instincts, which was something to keep in mind moving forward.
Then again, who was Zach to talk, given that he had gone against his own instincts by taking the job to begin with?
Not that the job didn’t have considerable perks.
For one thing, the accommodations were world class. Half hidden by gardens and majestic Monterey pines, the Inn at Spanish Bay was bordered by wild coastline on one side and miles of manicured Scottish-style links on the other. The charming two-bedroom suite Alton had booked included a fireplace, a private patio, and a ridiculously spacious bathroom with a double shower and free-standing deep soaking tub. From the fresh flowers to the paintings on the wall, no detail had been overlooked. The meals, the cocktails—so many cocktails—the Scottish piper at sunset, everything about the hotel was perfect.