Title: Fade to Blue
Series: Blue Series #3
Author: DP Denman
Genre: M/M Romance
Brady walked barefoot down the hall of his condo, tan carpet cushioning his steps, his mind on the golf course. He looked forward to Wednesdays at the country club, working on his game and chatting with fellow golfers. They celebrated their morning on the green with cognac at the clubhouse, bragging about better days and better scores.
He strode past the office he'd learned to ignore, the career that used to define him downgraded to a lucrative hobby. The trill of the phone on his desk lured him to the open door. It didn't make that sound often anymore. He stepped into the sunlit room, a muted version of summer pouring through the full-length tinted windows. He paused within reach of the receiver, tempted to let the call go to voice mail. It wasn't an emergency. It couldn't be.
There were no emergencies in investing. Only a slow-rising panic that took days to peak and gave people ulcers in the process. That phone produced headaches. His cell dealt with calamity, and it hadn't made a sound.
A glance at the caller ID challenged his certainty, scattering the casual curiosity and denting his mood.
Why were the Royal Canadian Mounted Police phoning his office?
A spike of fear drilled into his gut at the thought that his boyfriend, Blue, had tripped over something and done a face plant into trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time, though Blue's brand of trouble didn't warrant the RCMP’s attention. At worst, it attracted the Vancouver police and a couple of paramedics.
He picked up on the third ring, pushing aside the explanation. If they were calling about Blue, they wouldn't be on his landline.
"This is Sergeant George with IMET," a man said in his ear. "I'm trying to reach Brady Halverson."
"This is Brady. You're with what?"
"The Integrated Market Enforcement Team. Do you have a moment to answer some questions?"
He wasn't familiar with that division, but the name was enough to launch dread down a zip line through his intestines.
"Sure." He stood behind his desk, cringing at the thought of something unpleasant crashing into his life.
"You work as a hedge fund manager. Is that correct?"
"Not anymore. I'm a part-time investment advisor."
"And you have a brother named Terry Bernard Halverson?"
That question didn't make any sense. The topics weren't related. "Yes. What's this about?"
"Would you mind coming down to our office to discuss a few things?"
He didn't like the way the sergeant stepped around his question. Neither did his blood pressure.
"Can you tell me what this is about?" he repeated, suspicion inching toward dread and puddling under his arms.
"It regards your brother."
"I figured that." His heart pounded through scenes of kidnappings by professionals who specialized in compound interest and compound fractures. "Is he all right?"
"To my knowledge, he's fine. I'd rather ask the remaining questions in person if you don't mind. It's not urgent, but it is important."
He breathed out the tension in his stomach. "Yeah, I guess. What's the address?"
Sergeant George gave it.
"Does it need to be today?"
"No. Anytime this week will be fine."
They agreed to meet the next morning, and he hung up, questions crowding his head. The biggest was what Market Enforcement in British Columbia wanted with a concert violinist from Toronto.
He strode past the office he'd learned to ignore, the career that used to define him downgraded to a lucrative hobby. The trill of the phone on his desk lured him to the open door. It didn't make that sound often anymore. He stepped into the sunlit room, a muted version of summer pouring through the full-length tinted windows. He paused within reach of the receiver, tempted to let the call go to voice mail. It wasn't an emergency. It couldn't be.
There were no emergencies in investing. Only a slow-rising panic that took days to peak and gave people ulcers in the process. That phone produced headaches. His cell dealt with calamity, and it hadn't made a sound.
A glance at the caller ID challenged his certainty, scattering the casual curiosity and denting his mood.
Why were the Royal Canadian Mounted Police phoning his office?
A spike of fear drilled into his gut at the thought that his boyfriend, Blue, had tripped over something and done a face plant into trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time, though Blue's brand of trouble didn't warrant the RCMP’s attention. At worst, it attracted the Vancouver police and a couple of paramedics.
He picked up on the third ring, pushing aside the explanation. If they were calling about Blue, they wouldn't be on his landline.
"This is Sergeant George with IMET," a man said in his ear. "I'm trying to reach Brady Halverson."
"This is Brady. You're with what?"
"The Integrated Market Enforcement Team. Do you have a moment to answer some questions?"
He wasn't familiar with that division, but the name was enough to launch dread down a zip line through his intestines.
"Sure." He stood behind his desk, cringing at the thought of something unpleasant crashing into his life.
"You work as a hedge fund manager. Is that correct?"
"Not anymore. I'm a part-time investment advisor."
"And you have a brother named Terry Bernard Halverson?"
That question didn't make any sense. The topics weren't related. "Yes. What's this about?"
"Would you mind coming down to our office to discuss a few things?"
He didn't like the way the sergeant stepped around his question. Neither did his blood pressure.
"Can you tell me what this is about?" he repeated, suspicion inching toward dread and puddling under his arms.
"It regards your brother."
"I figured that." His heart pounded through scenes of kidnappings by professionals who specialized in compound interest and compound fractures. "Is he all right?"
"To my knowledge, he's fine. I'd rather ask the remaining questions in person if you don't mind. It's not urgent, but it is important."
He breathed out the tension in his stomach. "Yeah, I guess. What's the address?"
Sergeant George gave it.
"Does it need to be today?"
"No. Anytime this week will be fine."
They agreed to meet the next morning, and he hung up, questions crowding his head. The biggest was what Market Enforcement in British Columbia wanted with a concert violinist from Toronto.
Award winning author DP Denman writes character-driven contemporary romance about gay men. Her stories are real and intense, but resolve in endings that make people want to read the book all over again. She lives among the moss and trees of the Pacific Northwest with a rambunctious pair of fur babies.
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