Free Fair Game by Josh Lanyon

want—and giving up a relationship he did?”
    Feder threw Elliot a funny look. “It’s not like…I mean, Terry and I weren’t…”
    “Serious?”
    He flushed. “No. I mean, it’s not that I—we—didn’t care about each other, but we’re not—we’re only in college. It’s not like anyone wanted to settle down.” Feder’s eyes met Elliot’s with sudden guilty intensity. “I still want to…see people.” He gave Elliot a diffident but engaging smile. “I’m still available.”
    Feder was attracted to him. The realization caught Elliot by surprise. He reached for his own drink, took a sip to give himself time and said neutrally, “Did Terry feel the same way?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Translation: no.
    “Can you think of anything else that might be useful?”
    “Not really,” Feder said apologetically. “I mean, I was surprised and I wasn’t to hear Terry had split, if you know what I mean?”
    “Yeah. If you think of anything that might be helpful, or you happen to hear anything, will you let me know?”
    “You mean like if Terry calls me?”
    “That, sure.” Elliot thought the chances were pretty remote. “But if you hear anything about Terry, I’d like to know.”
    “Okay. Sure.”
    Elliot started to rise and Feder said quickly, “Um, could I buy you another drink, Elliot?”
    Elliot hesitated. Feder was attractive and seemingly interested, and it had been way too long since Elliot had been with anyone. But not only was Feder a student, he was technically a suspect. A suspect in what, remained to be seen, and Elliot’s own involvement was mostly unofficial, but he was approaching this like any case. And doing the—as his father would say—wild thang with a suspect was definitely not okay. “How about a rain check?”
    Feder looked flatteringly disappointed, but recovered. He said playfully, “It rains a lot in Seattle.”
    Elliot grinned. “It does, yeah.”
    He rose, careful not to move his knee the wrong way, self-consciously aware of Feder’s attention as he threaded his way through chairs and tables and people.
    “Night, Elliot,” Feder called softly after him.

Chapter Eight
    The doors to the Wharfside swung closed behind Elliot. The night air smelled of briny ocean and broiling steaks.
    He walked over the bridge to the parking lot, passing talking, laughing couples on their way inside. Starlight sparkled on the marina water. The docked ships and buildings along the wharf cast rippling black shadows on the water. Music and laughter drifted from the restaurant as the doors opened and closed again.
    Elliot fished his cell out of his pocket and thumbed the numbers he still remembered.
    “Lance,” Tucker answered briskly almost at once.
    Elliot had expected the call to go to message, so he was disconcerted to find intelligent conversation required. That was what was making his heart pound, right?
    “It’s Elliot.”
    There was a fraction of a pause and Tucker said smoothly, “This is a surprise.” His voice dipped and there was chink of ice in a glass. “What can I do you for, Professor?”
    Elliot picked out the background noise of a dishwasher. Tucker was in his kitchen fixing himself a drink, a scene Elliot remembered from more than one evening where a long, wearing day had ended at Tucker’s apartment and, after a couple of drinks, in Tucker’s bed. The undertow of memories nearly sucked him under for a second. How the hell could you be homesick for a place that had never been home?
    No, it wasn’t Tucker’s home or Tucker that he wanted; what he missed, with sudden gut-wrenching longing, was his old life. That was all. Because anything else would just be too damn sad.
    “I just met with Jim Feder, Baker’s boyfriend.”
    Tucker took a swallow—maybe to give himself time—and said flatly, “Really? When did we agree on that?”
    Elliot pressed his key fob and the lights to his Nissan 350Z flashed on and off halfway down the long line of parked cars. He walked