Changes, p.39
Changes, page 39
“Right. Pack up the van. I’ll be right out.” She moved across the kitchen, reached up under one of the cabinets and fumbled around. Nick was going to ask what she thought she was doing when she paused, grunted, then brought her hand back out with a small device in it. “I might as well take this. They’re not cheap, and I know you’ll just have it found and destroyed.”
“Too true.” He stood, aching with the tension in every muscle. “If there are others, you’d better take them too. Or finders keepers.” Or finders smashers. He really wanted to break something right now.
“I told the men to retrieve them all.”
All. Great. And not likely. He bared his teeth in a flat smile. “I’ll be sweeping the place anyway.”
“I’m sure you will.” She turned away, heading after her men toward the door. “You’ll get a receipt for all the items we’ve taken.”
“Oh, that’s comforting. Now that I have no phone and no laptop.”
“Items not material to the case will be returned to you.”
“Fuck you.”
She sighed. “I’m really sorry we ended up on opposite sides of the law, Rugo. You weren’t a half-bad cop, until you got mixed up with Brian Kerr.”
Maybe not, but I wasn’t more than half alive either. “I’m not on the opposite side of justice.”
“I’m not going to debate that. If we find that you concealed evidence of a kidnapping or abetted a wanted felon, we’ll charge you.”
“There’s nothing to find. Damon played me. The end.”
Olson nodded and headed out. As he followed her through the door, she paused on the front step. “Tell Brian for me that we’re sorry. I hope he recovers. And… he might think about leaving town and staying gone. We haven’t called in the Feds yet. Without more evidence, we probably won’t. If I ever see Damon Kerr, I’m going to slap the cuffs on him so fast it’ll make your head spin. But I’m sorry about what happened to Brian.”
“If he ever wakes up and if I find out where and if he cares, I’ll tell him.”
She nodded. “So long, Rugo. We’ll be around.”
But I won’t. He stood and watched as the police van pulled into the dead end, circled, and drove off. Olson’s sedan followed it. Maybe there was someone still watching. Probably there was. Olson would be waiting to see what he did now. Wondering if he’d run to Brian or try to get hold of Damon. Well, fuck her. What he was going to do was…
I have no idea what I’m doing now. He wandered down the steps and over to Charlie’s rental car. Charlie was napping, his head on a folded jacket against the window. Nick rapped on the glass, and Charlie jolted, looked out at him, then pointed at the other side of the car.
Well, why not? Nick walked around, and when Charlie popped the lock, he got into the passenger seat, slamming the door. “Fuck.”
“You really do need to work on your vocabulary.”
Nick snarled wordlessly.
Charlie held up his hand. “Sorry. How bad was it?”
He was going to swear again, but didn’t have the energy. “They took some shit. No vital shit.”
“Your phone?”
Nick managed a small smile. “Not the new one.”
“Ah. Where is it?”
At least this rental car was almost certainly bug free, since it was a new one from the airport that morning. Still he just said, “Well guarded,” with a tip of his head toward the garden fence.
Charlie blinked, then pressed his lips to restrain an answering smile. “Cool. That works.”
“I don’t know what to do now.”
“In what sense?”
“I was going to be smart. Stay here a few weeks. Sell the trailer. Pack up the house. Eventually move out, maybe over the holidays when everyone is going places and the department’s short-staffed. When enough time had passed to look lonely, but not suspicious.”
“And now?”
“Now?” He rubbed his forehead. “To hell with suspicious. I just want to go.”
“Isn’t that even less safe now? Olson isn’t holding back from using you to hunt for Damon and Brian.”
“She’s always wanted them. Damon anyway. I could wait for months, for years even, and it may never be safe.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know. Olson sounded like she might be softening. A bit.” Of course, Olson was Narcotics. She’d done her time undercover. No doubt, she could lie like a champion. “Maybe I need to disappear too.”
“Hard to do with everything they have on you. Fingerprints, contact lists, pictures, the dog. You’d have to stay away from me, because I’m findable through Mom and the disability payments.”
“Fuck.” His eyes burned. “I’m not leaving Luger, or you. And I’m not waiting years to go to Brian. And I’m not bringing Narcotics down on him.”
“Kind of wishful thinking.”
“I know. There has to be an answer. Maybe I can catch Olson screwing around with an underage boy and blackmail her.”
“Is that likely?”
“Not a hope in hell. She’s squeaky clean.” He couldn’t think. He wanted Brian so fucking bad, but Olson was like a carrion crow, watching them. “I wish I knew how long it’ll take for her to lose interest. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“You know the players,” Charlie said. “I’m just here for backup.”
He nodded. The whole damned thing was catching up on him. His head felt heavy, and his stomach twisted painfully. The itch behind his eyes was either lack of sleep or fucking ragweed. He rubbed them. “Tomorrow. I’ll think about it then.”
“Right. How bad did they trash the house? Is there a bed or couch left in one piece?”
“Yeah. They didn’t do too bad.” He glanced at Charlie, noting the deeper groove in his forehead, and the shadows under his eyes. “You look like I feel. We should go in and get some rest.”
“No arguments from me.” Charlie opened his door and got out stiffly.
“There could still be bugs in the house. I’ll find someone to do a sweep.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Soonest possible.”
They headed up the front walk together. Once inside, Nick gave Charlie a gentle push toward the bedroom. “You take my bed. I’ll let the dog in and sleep upstairs.”
“Right. Later.” Charlie stumbled over nothing on his way down the hall. Nick watched after him until he’d gone into the bedroom and shut the door. Then he went out into the yard.
Luger was still lying in his doghouse, alertly watching as he approached. He knelt to stroke the dog’s soft head. “Hey boy, good dog.” The long, plumed tail thumped twice. “Come on out, let me see… Out, Luug.”
Luger stood, stretched, and ambled out onto the grass. Nick looked around the interior of the doghouse casually. There, against the side by the door, was a glint of silver. He patted the ground in the opening. “Luger, come over here. Down.” The dog came and dropped obediently to the grass beside his knees. “Good boy, hang on.” He stroked the dog, smoothing his coat, pausing twice to pull a strand of grass from the longer hair on his belly and thigh. Eventually he slid his hand over the dog’s fuzzy butt, down his tail. An inch farther into the doghouse, and he palmed the phone, sliding it back up along the dog’s deep fur. Turning, he sat on the dirt, his hip against Luger’s side. Rub, stroke, rub, slip the phone into the pocket, stroke, ruffle.
No one jumped out of the bushes and pointed at him. Luger’s lazy unconcern suggested there were no strangers close-by. Hanging out with Luger was cover, hiding his retrieval of the phone, but it was also good to just stay here, in the quiet cool of the Minnesota fall afternoon, with the dog at his side. He leaned into Luger’s solid warmth.
He could hear a chickadee in the tree overhead. A late mosquito buzzed, and he smacked it as it landed. Take that. Luger huffed at his sudden movement, then subsided again. Down at the end of the block, the traffic on the main road was picking up pace. A soft, cold breeze ruffled his hair and Luger’s coat.
Too bad. I could’ve been happy here.
Although it had never been perfect. Not back when he’d been a patrol cop, and Brian had struggled to find himself. And definitely not when Brian became the one with a purpose, and he was just support. Maybe they could establish a real balance, somewhere else.
He realized he was already letting go, moving on. What was left was mechanics, planning, paperwork. Safety and risk. There was a different life waiting for him, if he could only find a way out of this trap. How long will it take until I won’t be endangering Brian? How damned long? Months? Years?
Luger nudged his hand with a cold nose, and he blinked hard, and resumed scratching the dog’s chest. The weathered house and November-drab yard faded before his blurry eyes, seeming distant, and less real. His heart was already way down south, on a North Carolina sheep farm.
Chapter 21
Brian bent to lift another mineral block off the pile in the supply shed. They weren’t that heavy, maybe thirty pounds each, but the plastic wrap made things slippery, as he stacked this one on top of the first, and got a grip. He could’ve made two trips, but he didn’t want to seem like a wimp who couldn’t carry sixty pounds.
Lifting with his knees, like Doc had told him, he toted the blocks out and down the lane to the pasture gate. Which he now couldn’t open. Damn.
From behind him, Lori said, “Hey, I’ll get it.” She unlatched the gate and swung it wide enough for him to slip through, then pushed it shut again and leaned on it, watching.
Brian ignored her as he set a block down beside each of the holders. There was a fragment of the old mineral left in each of them— worn to a flat, thin shape by the tongues of the sheep— and he took the bits out, unwrapped and loaded up the new blocks. Lori swung the gate open again before he could reach for it. He had to grunt, “Thanks.” He didn’t have to look at her.
She trailed behind him as he went back to the shed. “Hey, come on. You’re being a jerk.”
He blocked the door with the width of his back, looking around the cool interior. There was a workbench to his left. He set the wrappers and leftover slivers of supplement on it and turned to face her. “You’re sucking up to Yasmin like the start of a long con. And flirting with Doc.”
Lori widened her pretty blue eyes in the morning sun and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Why, what on earth are you suggesting, honey-chile.”
“And quit with the fake southern stuff. It’s not funny.”
“I’m just being all nice. And polite. To people who’re giving us a place to stay.” She huffed. “What bug got up your ass? Boyfriend not calling you back? Maybe Nick the cop decided to dump you after all?”
He was not going to react to that. Not one bit. “I want to… have a fresh start. Something real. No cons, no lies. Don’t you want that for your baby too?” Ah, hell, the baby. Not thinking about it, not. “Doc’s obviously not interested in you.”
“No kidding.” Lori shrugged. “I’m just messing around, and he knows it. Anyway, I won’t be staying here long. Just till I find a place of my own.”
“Soon?” A lurch of something, half hope, half worry, sped his pulse. “Have you heard from Charlie? Or Damon?”
“No. The bastard.” She turned away, her hand going to her belly again, fingers spread to cradle the shape. She kept doing that, and it was making it hard to not think about a real child growing in there.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Job hunt, ’cause I don’t want to sponge off Charlie, whatever you may think. Keep Doc and Yasmin happy until then. Which, by the way, is not sucking up.”
“There’s, um, honest happy and fake happy.”
She gave him a hard look. “I liked you better when you were stupid.”
“Sorry.” Although he wasn’t, really. “Look, I’ll try to help you out too, all right? Like, if I make any money, I’ll give you some.”
Her gaze turned sly. “Well, yeah, you actually ought to, right?”
Brian swallowed hard. He needed to ask, had planned to never ask, not the time, not the place— his voice came out a hoarse whisper. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“Who?”
“Mr. Marston. About the baby. And… me.”
She bit her lip, and for a moment the calculating smile slipped, showing something sad underneath. “Maybe. He did stuff. It, yeah, this could be your child. I guess. It could be anyone’s. How would I even know?”
“I’m sorry!” He’d have taken back every unsatisfactory orgasm into a hooker’s mouth, every moment of unasked-for pleasure, gladly taken it all back. He pressed his own fist into his gut to steady it. “But what if it is? Mine?”
“Get one thing straight.” She looked up him, eyes flashing. “This baby could have any father on the planet, and it doesn’t matter. He’s mine. Whoever the sperm donor was doesn’t matter now. I can’t claim Vern’s money for him anymore, and I don’t want you or anyone else daddying him. You want to help out as his uncle? Then fine, sure. We both know being a single parent sucks.”
“Right.” His chest was tight.
“But I’m his mother, I will make sure he has a real childhood. He’s going to have it so fucking good. And no one, not even you, gets any right to take him away from me.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“Nick might. Even you might. What did you say, I’m a lying con artist?”
“I didn’t.”
“Close enough. Maybe you don’t think I’m good enough for him. Too bad.”
“But what if he’s… different?” He didn’t really understand genetics, but he knew that there were reasons a brother and sister shouldn’t have a kid, even when both of them were normal. Which he wasn’t.
“So what if he is? Not like I didn’t help raise you, and you turned out…” She gave him a slow look up and down. “Well, weird. But not too fucking bad.”
He shook his head, words tripping over themselves on his tongue. “What if he’s not okay?”
“I’ll deal.” She rubbed her belly gently. “There’s no other choice.”
“Did you ever think about—”
“About?”
He tried not to say it, but months of nebulous dreams, of arriving too late, or too soon, to save her child, his child, dreams of monsters and mutants and regret, made him ask, “An abortion. When there was still time?”
“No. Yeah. Okay, I thought about it. But I was pretty far along before I knew it wasn’t Vern’s, and anyway, Damon would’ve hog-tied me.”
“So you kept it for Damon?”
She tossed her head, as if planning to say “Yes, so what?” but then her shoulders slumped. “No. I kept him to be his mom. And raise him. And maybe to say fuck you to Vern, for treating people like things. My baby is not a thing, and I won’t toss him away because he’s no longer useful, or might not be perfect.”
“Oh. That’s good.”
They stood for a long moment in silence. Brian didn’t know what was going through Lori’s brain, but he was swamped with a feeling of changes. Like water busting over a dam, he suddenly felt tied to that small life growing inside Lori. His child or not, it was his twin’s child. His nephew. A real, live, little, needy, innocent baby.
His responsibility too. “You don’t have to move out, you know. I bet Doc would let you stay. I could move instead, and maybe the room I’m in could be a nursery.” After two days, he was well aware that Yasmin’s house was small. Three new people already stretched it. “I’ll have to move out when Nick gets here anyway. That box room won’t fit two of us.”
“When’s Nick coming?”
He tried not to flush. “We’re still discussing that.” Or would be, if he would call me. After that good first talk, there’d been two days of silence. He wasn’t scared Nick had changed his mind, but he couldn’t deny he was worried. Generally worried. Like something might have happened. Not scared anymore that Nick didn’t want to be with him.
Lori tilted her head, like she saw through that nonanswer. But all she said was, “I’d rather find a job and my own place. But I’m stuck till I do. So thanks.”
“Mm.” He watched her walk back toward the house, waited until she went up the front steps, then his phone out of his pocket. Nothing. No new texts. No answers to his last three texts, and it was Nick’s turn. No missed calls. Plenty of charge. Two bars. He put it away again.
Stupid to feel that sinking chill inside. Nick was fine. He had to be fine.
Of course, there’s a way to be sure. At least to be sure he’s alive. He hadn’t really tried to Find anyone since waking from the coma. He remembered barely opening his Eye on the boat, and the pain crashing in. The headache still lingered behind his eyes like a ghost, a promise of vengeance if he went there. But… Nick.
Carefully, he walked around the shed out of sight of the house. After a moment of consideration, he sat down on the ground, his back to the weathered boards. All he needed was to fall over doing this and give himself a concussion. He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. A flake of paint caught at his hair. The soft southern air stirred against his cheek. Off in the fields, a sheep made that low sound that was nothing like baa, and another answered. Some unfamiliar bird called musically from the big live oak by the fence. He drank in the peace.
And opened his Finder eye: Nick?
And then: Damon?
Pain hit him in an onslaught that forced him to take short, shallow breaths. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut and refused to bolt to the outside world. Nick? Where? Yes! In the darkness a few threads shimmered, close at hand. Shining amber, steel and beer and rough warmth. Nick! Then bright, hot, smoky, sharp tang of copper, softer yellow, black shaded to chocolate brown— Oh, thank God. Both of them still out there. He almost blinked his eyes open, because the taste of Damon’s thread had changed. It was still Damon, though, alive, strong as ever.
The pain rose, throbbing in his temples, but he kept looking around. The soft brush of rose petals, deeper, a sting of thorns. Lori had changed too, though not as much. Still tangled with a darkness. Green, hidden water. But the music box notes shimmered clearer. Off in the distance, a faint hint of chocolate, and yellow daisies. And a tangle of threads he didn’t want to touch, cigarettes and sour whiskey, hard edges and despair.
