Jack sat in the middle of Kieran's couch, lost in thought with his head in his hands. On the plus side, he was out, and Kieran was still interested in dating him. On the not-so plus side, Jack still didn't know what Kieran was after. He refused to believe that Kieran was into him for his screwy personality. Why date someone who's anxiety and paranoia was an inconvenience to themselves? It didn't make sense.

He pulled out his phone and frowned at the time. It was just after seven. Kieran should have closed up shop an hour ago. He was grateful for the time and space, but his stomach squirmed at the thought that he was inconveniencing Kieran even more.

Jack hugged himself as he unsteadily got off the couch and headed to the door. He looped his bag over his head and took a deep breath before pulling the door open. Silently, he made his way down the stairs and paused in the storage room at the sound of irritated voices.

"—another broken heart in your wake," said a woman.

Jack edged toward the open doorway as he tried to place the familiar voice and accent.

"I believe you have me confused with Lorenzo," Kieran cooly replied.

"Well, you certainly learned it somewhere."

"And you're the best of us all. Of course," Kieran said, his voice laced with sarcasm and false cheer. "How lovely it must be for you to have come out unscathed."

"Being proactive and honest has its merits."

Jack nibbled at his cuticles as he recognized the woman's voice as Colette Benoit. He settled against the doorjamb, checking that neither himself nor his shadow were visible.

Eavesdropping was a bad habit, but when he knew so little about his creepy boyfriend, he'd take any information he could get. Especially if that information came from someone who wasn't a fan of Kieran.

"Might I ask how Harold reacted to your honesty?"

Benoit's surprised laugh echoed through the store. "You can't honestly expect me to believe you're serious."

Jack held his breath as Kieran remained silent. His chest tightened at the prolonged silence. Of course there was something else Kieran wasn't telling him. He hoped it was something small. Maybe Kieran and Benoit used to do porn together. Something embarrassing but meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Benoit's laugh turned menacing. "Oh, that is rich! Poor little moth. I hope you burn," she said lowly.

"You're free to leave."

"Did you truly believe I would ignore your presence? But to answer your question, Harold was a poet, undamaged by the wraiths in the night," she said in a light and airy tone. "He loved me. So entirely different situations, and I'm disinclined to give you advice."

Jack strained to hear Kieran's response. He leaned further into the doorway and shivered as a soft breeze brushed against his ear.

"Feeling better?" Lindsey whispered from beside him.

"God, fucking fuck! Fuck!" Jack lost his balance and barely caught himself on the doorjamb, narrowly avoiding colliding with a display case. He glared up at Lindsey. "What is wrong with you?" he hissed.

"Sorry." Lindsey's grin did nothing to make her look the least bit sorry.

"Jack?"

Jack winced and slowly left the safety of the doorway. "Yeah… Hi," he said, lifting and dropping an arm. "I'm doing better, I guess."

Kieran looked between Jack and Benoit. He sighed and made his way to Jack. "Here, I'll take you home."

Jack nodded as Kieran touched his shoulder. "Sure." He let Kieran guide him to the store's alley entrance and glanced at Benoit as they passed. Her attentive glare was focused on Kieran.

"I trust you can show yourself out?" asked Kieran, not bothering to meet her gaze.

"More successfully than you," Benoit replied with a sniff. "Keep your head down, or it will roll. I will make an example of you."

Kieran's hold on Jack's shoulder tightened. "Noted."

Once in the alley, Jack reached up and touched the hand on his shoulder. "So…that's some rivalry?" he asked.

Kieran looked at Jack in confusion before smiling. "Ah. Yes. I suppose."

Dread pooled in the pit of Jack's stomach. Sam was wrong. There was no threat of competition between two business owners. There was no rivalry. Something else was going on, and he… Did he really want to look into it? Did he want to get involved?

When he realized he was being led to a shiny black Mustang and not just being escorted home, temptation for being treated to the finer things in life loomed over him and settled firmly on his shoulders.

He might get squirmy over the act of being treated, but he still craved it. And Kieran was more than willing to deliver.

He needed to make a decision. An informed decision.

---

Jack waited a few minutes in his apartment after Kieran's car had turned the corner before heading out, only feeling a small amount of guilt over it. He told himself he wasn't being nosey; he was being vigilant. He had his own safety and well-being to look out for. It wasn't stalker behavior. He was taking preventative measures.

He adjusted the angle of his laptop as a noisy pair of teens passed his small table in the corner of the internet cafe. He'd already gotten enough side-eying from Missy for the short time he'd been there. He wasn't doing anything particularly illegal. Looking people up wasn't illegal or weird. But the legal routes were proving frustrating.

He tapped his fingers on the table as he stared at his search results. Benoit had been born and raised in a small town in northern Montana, which made no sense for her light European accent. Unless she was faking it to come off as more sophisticated.

But there were other things. A family business. Dead parents. No other relations. The only decent paper trail he found was Benoit's degrees and certificates. She'd attended colleges and universities all over the world, majoring in history and literature.

It was too convenient. Too similar to Kieran's past. Something had to be going on. Especially since there was no record of a marriage certificate, and no sign of Benoit's late husband, Harold. For the first time in years, he was tempted to tap into his old contacts and see if anyone could hook him up with more information. Maybe see if someone remembered a couple weirdo Europeans wiping out their past and starting fresh.

But why would they need a fresh start? What was Jack getting himself into? And was it really bad enough to justify digging further? It could always be something like witness protection, which could potentially paint an even bigger target in his own back.

He sighed heavily and picked up his drink. He blinked in surprise when he found his mug empty. That was his sign to call it quits for the night. Or, at least, quits as far as cyber stalking went. It was just after ten, and there was more than enough time for him to drop his laptop off at his apartment and head to the bar for a couple drinks. He had some extra cash, and he deserved a relaxing treat.

As he closed his laptop, he remembered that his go-to bar had been shut down. No more Charred Flamingo for him. No more Roger watering his drinks down after being there for two hours. No more trading that week's speed traps for half empty bottles of booze.

He almost reopened his laptop to see if he could track down Roger. He didn't want to have to go through the trouble of finding a bar with a good layout and regulars that kept to themselves. It had taken him seven months to get comfortable enough to get more than lightly buzzed. He had his own chair.

He shoved his laptop into his bag as his bitterness overtook him. He breathed shakily and blinked away the gathering tears. A normal person would move on and find a new bar to frequent. A normal person would not be a regular with their own chair and getting free booze from the bartender.

Maybe the liquor store would have a good special going on.