At ten to three, someone knocked on the front door. Matt looked up from where he stood in the hallway, sorting dark clothes from lights for the next load of laundry, but didn’t move to answer it. His heart kick-started in his chest; his hands trembled, he felt sweaty and hot, and he wondered if maybe it wasn’t too late to refuse to comment. Had it only been a few scant hours since he lay on the floor of Kyle’s closet, bound and gagged, as Jordan fondled him? Why did it seem like it had happened a million years ago, to someone else?
And why did he have to relive it for the cops?
The knock came again, impatient. Matt waited; then he saw Vic’s shadow on the wall as his lover crossed the living room to answer the door, and Matt turned back to the laundry. He had so much cleaning to do, so
