Title: Every Breath You Take
Author: Robert Winter
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Release Date: May 5, 2017
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 221 pages
Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense
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Synopsis
When Zachary Hall leaves Utah for a job in Washington, it’s finally his chance to live as a gay man and maybe find someone special. In a bar he meets Thomas Scarborough, a man who seems perfect in and out of the bedroom. But Thomas never dates. He never even sleeps with the same man twice. Despite their instant connection, he can offer Zachary only his friendship, and Zachary is looking for more.
Thomas is tempted to break his own rules, but years before, he became the victim of a stalker who nearly destroyed his life. Even though his stalker died, Thomas obsessively keeps others at a distance. Despite his fascination with Zachary, he is unable to lower his barriers. Frustrated, Zachary accepts he will never have what he wants with Thomas and soon finds it with another man.
But young gay men in Washington, DC are being murdered, and the victims all have a connection to Thomas. Once again someone is watching Thomas’s every move. Can it be a coincidence? When the depraved killer turns his attention toward Zachary, Thomas must face the demons of his past—or lose his chance to open his heart to Zachary forever.
Excerpt
Across the street the man with the silver-framed glasses stood back in the shadows and stared at the front window of the garden apartment. He could see the back of his quarry’s head as he watched a small flat-screen TV.
Time passed.
Eventually the head nodded forward and then jerked up. When it happened a second time, the creature turned off the TV and then the lamp and headed to bed.
The man waited for another half hour with his back pressed against an alcove formed where two brownstones met. The street was quiet. Almost no one walked by, and the lone person who came down the street failed to notice him in the shadows.
The man felt his breath grow hoarse, and blood rushed in his ears as his heart began to pound. He cultivated that sensation as he reached into his coat pocket for the screwdriver that rested there and made himself imagine the creature’s hands touching the Beloved’s face. Stroking his body. He curled his fingers around the screwdriver and then clenched and unclenched rhythmically. Its thick handle felt rough against his palm because of the grooves and sharp edges he had chiseled into it. He had ideas for other implements that would serve his purpose, but for now, this would do just fine. This would make his point.
His throat was dry, and his eyes burned from focusing on the darkened window, but he felt invincible. The tension in his body climbed exquisitely, and when he could take no more, he slipped across the street and stepped down to the locked gate. It opened easily with his small set of picks. The gate made no noise when the creature went through it earlier, so he was confident and quick and didn’t bother to lock it behind him. Child’s play, he thought as he worked the lock on the apartment door.
The tumblers clicked into place.
He stored his lockpicks, slipped inside the darkened apartment, and then closed the door behind him as silently as he could. Streetlight came through the slatted blinds the boy had failed to close completely. He waited quietly until he heard a faint snore from the back and then removed his glasses and tucked them in an inside pocket of his jacket. The scarf his quarry had been wearing caught his eye, and the man bared his teeth as he lifted it off the coat tree and tugged it tightly between his hands. It was well made. It would hold. He smiled.
He slid through the gloom toward the room where the creature lay sleeping. He was hard, and the blood in his erection pulsed in time to the pounding of his heart. That boy had dared to touch his Beloved. He had probably even been fucked by him. But that wasn’t enough—oh no. He came back for more.
It had taken the man so long to find his Beloved and interpret his subtle clues. He finally understood what was required of him. The undeserving gnat must be chastised, and he would be the Beloved’s angel of retribution. He was conscious of the weight of the screwdriver in his pocket, the scratch of the wool scarf in his hands, and the power in his arms.
He reached for the boy on the bed.
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Exclusive Excerpt from Every Breath You Take
In Every Breath You Take, a young gay man has been murdered, and the initial investigation turns up a connection to Thomas Scarborough. The Washington, DC, police detective assigned to the case is named Maria Torres. In the exclusive excerpt below, Torres has left her phone number for Thomas to give her a call, and this is their initial interaction.
At the designated time, Thomas finished eating a chicken salad sandwich at his desk, threw away the wrapper, and closed his office door. He dialed the number Randy had given him and waited.
“Torres,” he heard a woman say in clipped tones.
“Detective, my name is Thomas Scarborough. Randy Vaughan at Mata Hari said you want to talk to me about Brian Gallagher.”
He heard a chair squeak as Torres apparently sat down. “Thank you for calling, Mr. Scarborough. I understand you were in Tokyo?” Her tone was polite and friendly.
Ah, we’re going to start with pleasantries.
“That’s right. I spoke at a conference there. I just got back late last night.”
“I appreciate you calling me quickly, then. So as I’m sure Mr. Vaughan told you, I’m investigating the murder on the thirteenth. How well did you know Mr. Gallagher?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t really know him. Didn’t know…. I mean, I met him at the bar, we hooked up one time, and that was it.”
“Is that a common practice for you, to hook up with someone you don’t really know?”
Thomas bristled. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, but yes, I normally keep my sex life separate from my friends.”
“No boyfriend?” Torres asked.
Thomas snapped, “Oh, come on. I didn’t know I was calling in to a morals lecture.”
“Mr. Scarborough, I couldn’t care less what you do in bed as long as it had nothing to do with Brian Gallagher’s death. But let me rephrase my question. Do you have a boyfriend who might get jealous about your hookups?”
Thomas gritted his teeth. “No. No boyfriend. No lover, husband, wife, significant other, any of that.”
“Thank you for that thorough answer.” Thomas could hear a pen scratching as she apparently took notes of their conversation. “Now help me with the timeline, please. When exactly did you meet Gallagher?”
“It must have been on the sixth, because I think it was exactly a week before I saw him again. We met at Mata Hari that evening, talked for an hour or so, and then I took him home. He left a few hours later, and the next time I talked to him was on the thirteenth.”
“What did you talk about the night you met?”
“Jesus, I don’t know. It was bar talk,” Thomas said. “He was flirting with me, and I was in the mood. We just exchanged the usual banter until we decided to leave together.”
“Did he say anything to indicate he was worried? Maybe he had a boyfriend he was cheating on?”
“No, he didn’t tell me anything like that. He seemed fairly relaxed, and I didn’t get the sense he was nervous or hiding.”
“Okay. Where did you go when you left the bar?”
“My apartment.”
“And…?” Torres prompted.
“And.” Thomas was exasperated. “We had sex. Is that what you want to know? We had sex. Then he left.”
“How many times did you have sex?”
What the fuck?
“How can that be relevant?”
“Humor me, Mr. Scarborough. This is a murder investigation, not a talk show. I’m not asking the details of your life for shits and grins.”
Thomas ran a hand back through his hair and snorted. “Two times. We had sex twice. Then I showed him out about one in the morning.”
“Impressive. My boyfriend hasn’t managed twice in the same night for about two years.”
Thomas said drily, “I feel sorry for you, Detective.”
She chuckled mirthlessly and continued her questions. “Did you exchange phone numbers or addresses with Gallagher?”
“No. He asked for my number, in fact, and I said that wasn’t a good idea.”
“Why wasn’t it a good idea?”
“I don’t hook up with men more than once,” Thomas said. “I don’t like complications.”
“No boyfriend. No repeats. Interesting.”
Thomas could hear more scratching of her pen, and it began to bug the shit out of him. He barked into the phone, “Detective Torres, I only have twenty minutes. Is there anything you’d like to ask me about Brian Gallagher, or are you just going to armchair psychoanalyze me?”
Her tone changed abruptly from friendly to serious. “Did you talk to Gallagher or see him between the time he left your apartment and the evening of the thirteenth?”
“No, as I already said. And I didn’t expect to see him on the thirteenth either. I was in Mata Hari having a drink, and he came up to me.”
“What did you talk about on the thirteenth?”
“He started rubbing my shoulder, and he whispered that he wanted me to, umm, have sex with him again.”
“I’m a cop. You can say ‘fuck.’ How did you respond?”
“I was talking to someone else, so I shook his hand off my shoulder, and I said that wasn’t going to happen.”
“By someone else do you mean another hookup?”
“Maybe if you got laid more, you wouldn’t be as judgmental about my sex life.”
“Maybe if you had talked to Gallagher, he’d still be alive.”
I hope this snippet has you intrigued. You can find out more about the book or any other writing at my website.
Meet the Author
Robert Winter is a recovering lawyer who likes writing about hot men in love much more than drafting a legal brief. He left behind the (allegedly) glamorous world of an international law firm to sit in his home office and dream up ways to torment his characters until they realize they are perfect for each other. When he isn’t writing, Robert likes to cook Indian food and explore new restaurants.
Robert divides his time between Washington, DC, and Provincetown, MA. He splits his attention between Andy, his partner of sixteen years, and Ling the Adventure Cat, who likes to fly in airplanes and explore the backyard jungle as long as the temperature and humidity are just right.
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