Title: A World Apart

Author: Mel Gough

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: September 18, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 51900

Genre: Contemporary, NineStar Press, LGBT, drugs, HIV, AIDS, TB, familial abuse. Bi, gay. alcoholism, hurt/comfort, law enforcement

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Synopsis

Ben Griers is the darling of Corinth
Georgia’s Police Department—intelligent, handsome, and hardworking. Thanks to
his beautiful wife and clever daughter, Ben’s family is the envy of the town.
Yet desperate unhappiness is hiding just below the surface.

When Donnie Saunders, a deadbeat redneck
with a temper, is brought to the Corinth PD as a suspect in a hit-and-run, Ben
finds himself surprisingly intrigued by the man. He quickly establishes
Donnie’s innocence but can’t shake the feeling that Donnie is hiding something.
When they unexpectedly encounter each other again at an AA meeting in Atlanta,
sparks begin to fly.

With his marriage on the verge of
collapse, Ben is grateful for the other man’s affection. But he is soon
struggling to help an increasingly vulnerable Donnie, while at the same time
having to deal with the upheaval in his own life. Ben eventually realizes that
they cannot achieve happiness together unless they confront their darkest
secrets.

Excerpt

A World Apart

Chapter One

“What have we got, Lou?” Ben asked as he
stepped up to the reception desk at Corinth Police Department. He glanced at a
handcuffed man sitting on a nearby bench and staring determinately down at the
scuffed linoleum floor. The man’s strawberry-blond hair was disheveled, falling
low over his forehead and brushing his reddish eyelashes as his eyes flicked up
nervously at Ben. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. One knee was jiggling
nervously, and his jaw worked as if he was biting the inside of his mouth
repeatedly.

“That guy was driving the vehicle involved
in the hit-and-run yesterday,” Lou, the gray-haired desk clerk, said, jerking
his thumb at the man on the bench. “Browne and O’Donnell brought him in.
They’re with the captain.”

Just that moment, the door to the inner
sanctum of the station opened, and Jason Browne strode out of Captain Buckley’s
office. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled up as usual, to show off his
muscular, tanned arms.

“How was court, brother?” Jason sounded
cheerful, but his gray eyes were cold. In Ben’s partner and best friend since
high school, that was never a good combination. Ben gave Jason a long look,
then shrugged.

“As expected.” He didn’t want to think
about the peculiar effect the defendant’s words had had on him, and he sure as
hell wasn’t going to discuss it in front of a suspect, or Lou.

“You missed all the excitement.” Jason
gestured toward the handcuffed man, who was staring at the floor again.
“Saunders here knows some pretty colorful language, and he was none too happy
to accompany us, neither.”

“Hence the handcuffs?” Ben asked drily.

Jason nodded, smirking.

“Wasn’t me that hit that kid,” Saunders
suddenly muttered, his dark voice shaking slightly with suppressed anger. “Told
y’all I wasn’t in town.”

Jason sighed, folding his arms across
his chest with exaggerated impatience. “And I told you this: We got witnesses
placing you at the scene, smart-ass. It’s your word against theirs. Who’re we
gonna believe, some deadbeat, or the boy’s mother?”

Ben frowned at his partner. They had
been in the radio car on their usual route the day before when the call about a
hit-and-run near Corinth High had come over dispatch. O’Donnell and Myers, the
department’s other two sergeants, had been closest and responded to the call.
Last night, back at the station, O’Donnell had told them that the boy had a
broken leg from being flung off his bike, but that he would undoubtedly
survive. There really was no need for Jason to be so aggressive about the
issue.

Saunders suddenly sat up straight on the
bench, glaring at Jason. “It wasn’t me! Why’re ya not listenin’?” His dark blue
eyes were wide with fury.

Ben, knowing Jason’s thought processes
and impulses nearly as well as his own, stepped in his partner’s way. Gaze
fixed on his friend, he said loud enough for Lou and any bystanders to hear,
“Why don’t you and I take Mr. Saunders through to the interrogation room for a
statement?” He put special emphasis on the last words, hoping Jason would get
his meaning: Anything other than a polite request for an official statement
from the suspect would be out of order at this point.

Taking Jason’s reluctant jerk of the
head as assent, Ben turned around, intending to escort Saunders to the
interrogation room. But as soon as his back was turned, Jason stepped nimbly
around him and grabbed the man hard by the upper arm.

Saunders flinched, but Jason’s grip on
him was like a vise. Saunders’s eyes met Ben’s, and there was pure animal fear
in them, as well as something Ben couldn’t quite place. Anguish, perhaps?

He stepped up close behind Jason. “If
you dislocate his shoulder there’ll be an awful lot of paperwork to fill in for
both of us, brother.” Ben kept his voice quiet and even, but Jason knew him
well enough to detect the steely undertone. After a moment, Jason huffed, then
let go of Saunders and took a step back. There were finger-shaped marks on
Saunders’s well-defined bicep, just below the rolled-up sleeve.

Now Ben stepped forward, and Saunders
looked at him. He was still breathing fast, but the fear was beginning to fade
from the indigo blue eyes.

Ben motioned at Saunders to stand, then
pointed down the corridor. “Would you come this way, please?”

Good cop, bad cop. Ben really hated
playing this game, but Jason had left him no choice. Saunders got up. He was no
taller than Ben, who just about scraped five foot ten. Jason towered over them
both, still glowering. Saunders gave him a quick, disgusted look, then preceded
Ben down the dreary-gray hallway, handcuffed arms held stiffly behind him. As
Ben followed, he noticed that Saunders’s shoulders were unusually broad for a
man his height.

At the door to the interrogation room,
Ben let Jason draw ahead. He followed the two men inside and closed the door.
Jason approached Saunders, who had backed up against the one-way mirror.

“Turn around,” Jason said gruffly.

Saunders ignored him and stared straight
at the bottle-green linoleum floor. Ben spoke before Jason could get angry
again. “Sir, the sergeant will move the handcuffs to the front so you can sit
down more comfortably.” The indigo blue eyes that met Ben’s were still full of
mistrust, but after a moment, they softened and Saunders turned obediently.

“Sit,” Jason said when he had shackled
Saunders’s arms again in the front. Saunders sat down heavily in the single
chair on one side of the square floor-bolted table. Ben and Jason took the two
chairs opposite.

Leaning forward, Ben waited until he had
the suspect’s attention. “Do you mind if we record this conversation?”

“Yer arresting me?” The narrow blue eyes
were suspicious again, but Saunders sounded more wary than belligerent. And he
completely ignored Jason, his gaze never wavering from Ben.

“No, we’re not,” Ben said quietly. “But
having a record of what we talk about will aid your cause.”

Saunders chewed this over, trying to decide
whether Ben was telling the truth. Eventually he gave a small shrug.

“Sir,” Ben said. “Please state for the
protocol: Do you mind if we record this conversation?” Forcing the police
procedural on this man was surprisingly distressing. Saunders gave him a pained
look.

“Go ‘head.”

Jason pressed the digital recorder
button on the small panel in the tabletop to his right. But it was Ben who
spoke again. When they interrogated a suspect together, Ben usually started off
the interview. His milder, calmer demeanor tended to relax the atmosphere
better than Jason’s hot temper. For now, Jason seemed to have gotten all his
anger out by playing scary cop in front of Lou and sat quietly back in his
chair.

“Statement protocol, September
twenty-second, eleven forty-five a.m. Officers present: Sergeant Ben Griers and
Sergeant Jason Browne.” Ben nodded at the suspect. “Please state your full name
for the record, sir.”

“Donnie Saunders.” The man’s voice was
quiet, and he sounded tired.

Ben waited for Saunders to look at him
again, and nodded his thanks. Then he glanced at Jason, eyebrows raised,
reminding his partner with his most level stare to act appropriately. “Officer
Browne will now ask you a few questions.”

“Alright,” Jason said. Ben took this as
the opening of the interview and an affirmation that he would stay calm. “Mr.
Saunders, your pickup truck was seen driving away after hitting Dennis Mallory
on his bike while he was riding home after school yesterday afternoon at about
three thirty p.m.”

“I told y’all three times now, it wasn’t
me. Why is it that ya can’t hear me?” Saunders’s voice had risen again in
volume, but there was a strange quiver in it, too. He leaned back in his chair
as far as he could, regarding Jason from eyes narrowed in anger.

Before Jason, who looked ready to
explode again, could respond, Ben said quickly, “Let’s rephrase the question:
Sir, where were you yesterday at three thirty p.m.?”

Saunders didn’t immediately reply. His
eyes darted nervously around the room, never meeting Ben’s, and ignoring Jason
completely. Then they settled on the shackled, tightly folded hands in his lap.

Is he trying to come up with a lie?

Eventually, Saunders said, “Was in
Atlanta. Had an appointment at the DFCS.” His voice was very quiet, and he
didn’t look up. It didn’t sound like a lie, but a truth the man was reluctant
to share.

Ben decided not to press for details. It
was none of his business why the guy had been summoned to the Division of
Family and Children Services. As long as he could determine that Saunders had
been forty miles away from the scene of the hit-and-run, he had done his job.

“I need to know who you were there to
see,” Ben said just as quietly, and wasn’t surprised when his gaze was met with
one of suspicion again. He added in explanation, “A phone call to the person
you had the appointment with will clear you.”

Saunders gave a small jerk of the head
in understanding. “Stacy Miller.”

“Thank you.” Ben looked at Jason,
considering his options. Could he leave these two alone for a few minutes? His
partner’s steely gaze never wavered from Saunders, and Ben could feel Jason’s
tension. But if he told Jason to make the phone call, would he try very hard to
get at the truth? No, Ben would have to call the DFCS himself. He’d just be
really quick about it.

“Jason, stay with Mr. Saunders. I’m
going to call Ms. Miller.”

Not waiting for Jason’s acknowledgment,
or asking permission from Saunders to make the call on his behalf, Ben got up
and left the room. He went back to the front desk. “Lou, find me the number for
Atlanta DFCS.”

The desk clerk looked grumpy for a
moment but then started hacking away at his keyboard without a word. Finally he
picked up the phone, dialed a number, and held the receiver out to Ben.

“DFCS switchboard,” a tinny voice
announced in Ben’s ear. “How can I help?”

“Stacy Miller, please,” Ben said,
ignoring Lou, who was trying hard to look like he wasn’t listening in.

“Hold the line.”

Ben half turned away while he listened
to the annoying phone queue music. After a few moments, there was a click and a
crisp voice said, “Medicaid assessment team. How can I help you?”

“Is this Stacy Miller?”

“It is. Who’s asking?”

“Ms. Miller, this is Sergeant Ben
Griers, Corinth PD. Did a man by the name of Donnie Saunders have an appointment
with you yesterday afternoon?” Ben mentally crossed his fingers that the
mention of his rank would suffice to elicit this piece of fairly innocuous
information. Legally, he had no leg to stand on, but his experience had taught
him that a courteous yet firm manner often got you surprisingly far.

And his experience held true again.
After only a moment, the woman on the other end said, “Yes, he did.”

“And he attended?”

“Yes.”

“What time was his appointment?”

“Three p.m. But we were running late, so
I think I started with him around three fifteen.”

“And how long was he there for?”

“About forty-five minutes. Officer, is
Mr. Saunders alright?”

That was a surprising question. State
employees usually had no time or interest to worry about the hundreds of people
that passed by their desks every week. But then, here Ben was himself, trying
to help Saunders as well, as quickly and with as little delay as possible.
Maybe some of us do still care.

“He’s fine. Ma’am, if I were to check
your office’s visitor register for yesterday, would the record back up your
statement?”

“It would,” Ms. Miller said composedly.
“And you’d find a parking permit in Mr. Saunders’s name as well. We don’t have
much space out front, so clients get timed permits for the parking lot at the
back.”

That was more than good enough for Ben.
“Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, Officer. Have a good
day.”

“And you.”

Ben put the phone down, nodded at Lou,
and swiftly turned his back before the desk clerk could make a comment or ask
any questions.

As he walked down the corridor toward
the interrogation room, Ben’s mind was on the phone call, even as he kept
telling himself that, beyond establishing a suspect’s alibi, what he had just
learned was none of his business. But he couldn’t help wondering about it. Why
had Saunders gone to the Medicaid office? He didn’t look ill. Of course, there
were a dozen possible reasons. A sick family member. An old injury that no
insurance would cover. Or even trying to get at some extra state assistance for
no good reason at all. None of this was relevant to the case, and as he reached
the interrogation room, Ben tried his best to push the thoughts from his mind.

He opened the door but didn’t rejoin the
other two at the table. “Mr. Saunders, your alibi for yesterday afternoon was
confirmed by Ms. Miller. You’re free to leave.”

Jason looked around at Ben, scowling.
Ben ignored his partner and kept his eyes on Saunders, who, after a fleeting
look of surprise, raised his shackled wrists. “Ya gonna let me keep them as a
souvenir?”

Surprisingly, he didn’t sound aggrieved.
Ben had been prepared for righteous indignation and anger, and wouldn’t have
blamed the man for it. But Saunders just sat there, looking kind of tired and
defeated. He held his arms out without comment as Jason leaned over with the
handcuff keys. Once he was free, Saunders got up and, without a glance at
Jason, walked toward the door. When he drew level with Ben, he stopped, eyes on
the floor in front of him.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly, then
strode out of the room.

Ben glanced after Saunders as the man
continued down the hall, shoulders hitched, face averted from the people
milling around the lobby. A strange sensation rose up in him. Was it pity? He
tried to tell himself that it was only natural to take an interest, feel
something, after what Jason had put this man through without a single good
reason.

And for Ben, the whole thing wasn’t over
yet. Turning to his partner with a scowl, he asked, “Why were you so sure it
was him? You practically had him convicted already.”

Jason shrugged. “Witness said they saw a
dark brown pickup, same as Saunders has. And today, he was just sort of hanging
around the gas station on Fullerton. Thought we should check him out.”

“Did you have anything else to go on?
Description of the driver, partial number plate, anything?”

“Nope.”

Jason sounded smug, and Ben had to take
a deep breath to keep his voice level. “Did he maybe behave in a suspicious
manner?”

“Maybe,” Jason agreed as he got up. In
Jason-speak that meant: Just didn’t like the look of the dude.

Jason sometimes got like this; he was
all guts and instinct and reaction. That had its uses in policing, too, and Ben
usually made excuses for his friend’s hot-headedness, because it mostly came
from the right place in his heart. But somehow, this time he couldn’t. Maybe it
had happened one time too many. Or maybe, because this time Jason’s ire had
focused on a completely innocent party, he’d simply rubbed Ben the wrong way.

As he followed Jason out of the room,
Ben hissed, “Since this was your party, brother, you can write it up for the
captain as well, alright?” This would annoy Jason more than anything. He hated
writing reports.

Without another word, Ben strode past
the other man and out into the parking lot. He needed a moment to calm down or
else he might well punch his partner and best friend in the face before the day
was done.

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Meet the Author

Mel was born in Germany, where she spent
the first twenty-six years of her life (with a one-year stint in Los Angeles).
She has always been fascinated by cultures and human interaction, and got a
Masters in Social Anthropology. After finishing university she moved to London,
where she has now lived for ten years.

If you were to ask her parents what Mel
enjoyed the most since the age of six, they would undoubtedly say “Reading!”
She would take fifteen books on a three-week beach holiday, and then read all her
mom’s books once she’d devoured her own midway through week two.

Back home in her mom’s attic there’s a
box full of journals with stories Mel wrote when she was in her early teens.
None of the stories are finished, or any good. She has told herself bedtime
stories as far back as she can remember.

In her day job, Mel works for an NGO as
operations manager. No other city is quite like London, and Mel loves her city.
The hustle and bustle still amaze and thrill her even after all these years.
When not reading, writing or going to the theater, Mel spends her time with her
long-time boyfriend, discussing science or poking fun at each other.