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“Bodyguard?”

“Business consulting. But my brother’s still on the force.”

StevenWen. Not nearly as entertaining.

“If you really mean this, Ford, if it’s not some trick, I’ll call him.”

“No trick.” Isaac raised his hands, easing away from the fireplace. “I did my time. I just had bad luck.” Not that he planned to turn a new leaf completely, but he had no desire to add to his sentence for something he hadn’t wanted to be a part of. The target he’d put on his back by turning the others in wouldn’t be anything he wasn’t used to.

“Give me the details. I’ll call Steve. I’ll make sure he cuts you a deal if the intel pans out and you turn yourself in tomorrow morning. Until then, you’re staying right here where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Here? Think of all we might get up to, Dete—Andrew,” he corrected, curling his lips into a smirk.

A faint flush of color touched Andrew’s cheeks, like he was still steaming mad, but Isaac knew the real reason. Andrew was strong and resourceful and didn’t let anyone push him around, but only a handful of flirtatious taunts could have him turningbeet-red in seconds. One of Isaac’s favorite pastimes had been seeing how dark he could make that fair complexion blush.

“I’m exhausted,” Andrew deflected. “I don’t want to deal with bringing you down to the station tonight. They’ll have enough to worry about rounding up the other escapees.”

Isaac returned to the armchair and retrieved the glass of wine from the end table. “I gave them the slip, but the others were headed for the old Santucci Warehouse. You have plenty of time to call in the cavalry. Lovely glassware, by the way. Why just the one?”

Andrew twitched watching him sip from the crystal. “It was my mother’s. From my parents’ wedding. Steve has the other one.”

“Apologies.” Isaac set the glass down with a more delicate touch. “She passed? If she picked out the set, she had good taste.”

“Yeah…” Andrew glanced away. “Look—”

A ringtone erupted in the foyer.

Scowling, Andrew stomped back over to pluck it from the floor. Isaac saw the screen blinking brightly:Olivia.

“The girlfriend,” he sneered. “You go ahead and answer. I won’t give away your curious houseguest.”

But Andrew hit decline and forced the call to voicemail. “I need to call Steve. You want me to follow through on this deal, pour me some of that wine. And can you change the record to something else? I hate this crap.”

He went upstairs with angry plods, which Isaac was fairly certain had nothing to do with him. It had been eighteen months. Isaac figured Andrew and Olivia could be married by now, or at least engaged, but as he looked under the Christmas tree, there were no presents with her name on them.

The blasphemy of Andrew hating this music, however, made him purse his lips as he searched for another record. He decidedon Joni Mitchell’sBlue, since “River” counted as a Christmas song.

Isaac hadn’t known before when Andrew might return home, but now he could relax and take his time looking around. He got the wine from the kitchen and a Santa-shaped mug he couldn’t resist snagging from the cabinets, keeping the crystal for himself. He’d treat it with respect, but he was still a scoundrel.

Throughout the small house, Andrew’s Christmas decorations were minimal; no lights outside, just a wreath on the door, the tree in the corner, and some tinsel over the mantelpiece. His home’s main decor seemed to be bookcases filled with comics, novels, his records, and DVDs, with some shelves covered in action figures and model sets.

He had an array of memorabilia that fit his age group—the comics, anime, sci-fi movies and fantasy novels—but a good amount of it was classic, high-quality storytelling with subtext and surprise endings that Isaac felt both didn’t fit a detective, but also would only benefit how agooddetective figured out cases.

No wonder Andrew had caught him if he grew up consuming content likeWatchmenfrom a young age.

“Really?” Andrew deadpanned when Isaac passed him the mug of wine, having returned in sweats and a T-shirt, and bringing down a similar ensemble for him. “That’s for cocoa.”

“And you asked for wine. I couldn’t find anything else clean.”

“It’s been a long few days, okay?” Andrew took a hearty swig from the mug before passing Isaac the extra clothes. “Steve doesn’t like me letting you stay here, but he agreed to work with the DA if you go in tomorrow.”

“Much appreciated.” Sliding off his jacket, Isaac started to undo his jumpsuit.

“There’s a bathroom right—”

“I spent a year and a half taking group showers. I don’t have much modesty.” Isaac kicked his shoes away and stripped the jumpsuit down his legs, leaving him in simple but hugging underwear with the lights of the Christmas tree reflecting new colors off his tattoos.

Isaac was covered almost everywhere below the neck. He’d always liked the contrast of dark ink to his light hair and pale blue eyes.