Cover Up (18 page)

The main floor was empty except for his jeans and underwear on the kitchen floor, bringing on sweet memories from the previous night. Would Ivan be willing to repeat their kitchen interlude? This time Parker would watch and hopefully last a little longer.

The distinctive metallic thunk of a washing machine slightly off-kilter drew his attention to the basement.

“Ivan?” he called down, but got no answer. A quick trip downstairs revealed an empty basement. With a frown, and slower steps, Parker climbed back to the main floor.

Where the hell had Ivan gone? Had he gone for an early morning run? If he didn’t get back soon, he wouldn’t have time to shower before Parker left for class. This close to midterms, it was dangerous to skip out on lectures. Parker threw an apple and a granola bar into his bag. While his bread was toasting, he ran his jeans and briefs back upstairs, getting back down just as the toast popped up. As he grabbed a plate out of the cupboard, a shadow on the wall beside the cabinet caught his eye. Plate in hand, he peered at the spot. Was that a dent? He ran his fingers over the wall, paint flaking to the floor in response. The wall was depressed under his fingers. This house had been his home forever, and he knew every inch like he knew his own body. That dent was new. How odd.

He swiftly slapped peanut butter on his toast, along with a tiny smear of jam, and sat at the table, staring at the rounded depression. What would cause that? And when had it happened?

After washing the dishes and generally puttering, he could stall no longer. Ivan wasn’t coming back. Maybe he’d forgotten, or maybe his boss had needed him back at work, but either way, Parker’s day had dimmed.

With one last brief touch of the counter, where he’d rested while Ivan had blown his mind while blowing his dick, Parker slung his bag over his shoulder and left the house.

I
VAN
pounded on the door to the house. He really hoped he had the right address. He paced the length of the tiny porch while he waited. No way could he expect an immediate answer. The heat in the air was becoming oppressive as it neared noon, but that didn’t factor into Ivan’s desperation to get in the house.

A glance at his watch confirmed he’d not been outside for several minutes, but he pounded his fist—his left one—on the door again. His right one was swollen and scabbed and had been a bitch to protect on public transit in the midst of the early morning rush hour. More than once he’d had to bite back a shout of pain as some unsuspecting passenger jostled him or knocked into it with a laptop bag or purse.

The light rumble of a car engine had him turning to face the street. He was—mostly—certain no one had followed him, but it wouldn’t surprise him if beat cops were doing regular drive-bys, just in case. He flattened himself against the house and peered through the floppy branches of the evergreen growing at the corner of the porch. The white Crown Vic could be an unmarked cop car, or it could be an elderly person. Pretty much no one else drove those things.

Squinting, he stared intently at the driver, who was driving probably ten or so under the limit for a residential street. The flash of glasses and white hair registered just as the door banged open behind him. He leapt into the bushes while he whirled around to face the new threat.

Heart pounding, he crouched into a defensive posture. It took him a few seconds to recognize the man in front of him.

“Ivan? Is that you?”

Ivan stretched to his full height and stepped back on the porch, trying to tamp down the embarrassment at his overreaction. That didn’t stop him from taking another nervous glance around the neighborhood before he spoke.

“Kurt, I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, c’mon inside.”

“Is your boy home?”

“My boy? Really?” Kurt rolled his eyes, but ushered Ivan inside and shut the door behind them. “Davy’s at work.”

The cool air hit Ivan’s face, the chill refreshing after the heat of the sun. He didn’t much care if Kurt objected to his terminology, so long as they were alone. And he’d drawn a complete blank on Davy’s name, so boy did just fine.

He followed Kurt’s slow progress to the living room, where he sat gingerly on the couch. No wonder it had taken him so long to answer the door; the guy was clearly hurting. He’d lost several pounds since he’d been shot, on top of the pounds he’d lost fretting about coming out. The man needed a sandwich or three.

Kurt flipped the TV off and gestured at one of the chairs. Ivan sat on the edge, unable to relax.

Ivan took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m being a shitty friend. I’m glad things worked out with Davy. You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.”

“You got someplace to be? Simon told me what happened to you during the raid. Obviously he didn’t hear about it until later, but he did tell me you were on leave until further notice.” Kurt frowned. “Surely the SIU didn’t find you at fault for that kid’s death?”

Ivan choked down a gasp. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Dmitri at all. Especially not when the image of Parker in his place was still so vivid in his mind. So, he ignored the question.

“Kurt, man, I need help. I don’t know who to trust.”

“Of course. What’s up?”

Ivan flexed his hand and hissed as the pain clawed him.

“Shit, Ivan, who the hell did you hit? And why?”

“Long story. But it was a what, not a who.”

“Looks like you’ve cracked your knuckles. Let me get something to wrap up that hand, then you can tell me your story.”

Kurt stood, holding himself stiff and careful. Maybe he still had stitches. Ivan wasn’t even sure how long he’d been out of the hospital, but Ivan was still pissed this job had kept him from visiting.

“I don’t know.” Jittery like he’d had a dozen espressos topped off with a couple lattes, Ivan bounced up to look out the window.

“It’s not like either of us have any place we need to be.” Kurt left the room, moving slowly but steadily.

He was wrong. Ivan was supposed to be someplace else. Probably he should have left a note for Parker, letting him know he wasn’t going to class today, but it was far too late to have that regret, which was minor enough that it drowned in a much bigger sea of regret about having sex. Besides, he wrote for shit with his left hand; Parker wouldn’t have been able to read it.

After pacing the perimeter of the room a couple of times, he flicked the curtain back again, checking for surveillance. Nothing. Yet.

“What are you looking for?” Kurt’s unheard return startled him, but not to the point he was ready to attack, like he’d been in front of the house.

“Nothing.” Yet.

“Come sit on the table here. It’s easier if I don’t have to bend or twist.”

Ivan didn’t want to cause Kurt any pain—he’d been the source of pain for far too many people lately—so he did as he was he told.

Kurt peered up at him, blue eyes concerned. “You look like shit. You want to tell me what’s up, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

The intentional humor surprised a grunt out of him—not quite a laugh, but as close as he could possibly come today. Kurt was a tough motherfucker, but right now, a one-armed monkey could take him.

“Seriously, Ivan. You said you needed help. Tell me how I can help you.” Kurt picked up his hand and began cleaning and wrapping.

Ivan spoke as Kurt finished up his first aid. The whole mess only started several days ago, but it seemed like years. He managed to outline how he’d ended up in Parker’s house before Kurt paused in his first aid and looked closely at him.

“What the fuck, Ivan? Sarge had no business putting you undercover like that.” Kurt ran agitated fingers through his auburn hair, making it stand up in all directions before he completed wrapping Ivan’s hand. “It’s completely against regulations. You could lose your job over this. And any arrests might not even stick.”

Ivan shrugged and fiddled with the buttons on the TV remote that sat next to him. Those issues had worried him, too, but with a mole in the department and him not wanting anyone to arrest Parker anyway, he wondered if he was even cut out for this job anymore.

“That’s… not really the issue.”

Kurt frowned and hissed. “Shit, I can’t do that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Or I will be. Just taking time to heal, you know.”

Ivan let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His stupid shit, his hand, his issues, were nothing compared to what Kurt had been through. He stood, ready to run.

“I should go. I need to deal with this on my own.”

“Sit the fuck down, Ivan.” Kurt grimaced and stood as well, drawing his shoulders back. Despite the recent weight loss, Kurt was still bigger and showed no hesitation in reminding Ivan of the fact.

“Kurt, I—”

“You gonna make me make you sit?”

“Fuck, no.” Kurt would try, no matter what additional injury it would cause. There was no mistaking the look in Kurt’s eyes, and Ivan couldn’t be responsible.

This time, he slumped into a chair facing Kurt, who sat gingerly down again.

“Talk, Ivan. Now.”

“If someone’s passing inside info to the Russian mafia, you’re the only one I can trust. Which is why I’m here. I… don’t know what to do.” Ivan dropped his head into his hand.

“You need to stop this. There’s no way this kid is any sort of major player. You’d have heard about it before now.”

“I haven’t finished yet.” Ivan continued to tell his story, and Kurt listened intently.

“Okay, wait, Sarge might be on to something. Even if his mom left him an excellent inheritance, there’s no reason for him to be keeping that much money in his closet.”

Ivan glanced around the room, trying to postpone admitting the very worst thing. The thing that would get him fired, that made this whole investigation useless.

“Yeah. I know. But that’s not all. Kurt… I’m so fucked. This kid.” No. He couldn’t call him kid. “Parker. He’s… I’m… we….”

Kurt’s back straightened, and his eyes widened. “You fucked him?”

Ivan’s breath gusted out. “Yeah. And he’s no kid.” That had to be made clear. He had enough guilt weighing him down without adding cradle robbing.

“So… why? It wasn’t necessary for the cover, right? I thought you said you went in as a divorced man?”

Oh God. No. So not necessary for the cover. But he couldn’t stop himself. He stared at Kurt, not wanting to say it out loud. “It’ll never happen again. I swear.”

Kurt’s expression softened, and Ivan stared over his shoulder. “Oh. Shit.”

“Um. Yeah.” At least he didn’t have to come out and say he just hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d had to have one taste. Just one.

“What are you going to do?”

Ivan smiled, or at least as much as he could. Since Kurt was now living with Davy, Ivan supposed he’d gotten his happy ending, but Ivan had seen him before he and Davy had gotten together, and he’d been pretty fucked up. Kurt wasn’t going to bitch him out for being stupid, and he appreciated Kurt’s friendship more than he could say. Even though there was no happy ending in his own future, he was glad Kurt had found Davy. The worry and distress and emotional pain that had hung over Kurt like a cloak the last time they’d gone out was gone. Kurt’s issues were all physical, lucky ass.

“I don’t know.”

“Go to Sarge. Tell him it’s a bust. What you’re doing is fucking dangerous.”

“Yeah, but if I leave, will it be more dangerous for Parker?”

“For Parker? Why?”

“The leak. What if Razhin finds out we were investigating him? I don’t think Parker realizes how dangerous those people are.”

“Shit, man, you can’t do it. You can’t talk him out of it. If he finds out you’re a cop, you’re the one in danger, and no one is going to prison. You can’t do it.”

“I can. I think. You haven’t met him, Kurt. He’s so naïve. So sweet. I don’t think he realizes how insidious the drug trade is. He and—” Ivan cut himself off. Last thing he wanted to talk about was Parker’s goddamned boyfriend. “Anyway, I don’t think he’s so far gone yet.”

“He’s far gone enough that Sarge has heard of him.”

“I don’t care. Sarge has to be mistaken. Arresting Parker will kill him. He doesn’t have a criminal mindset at all.”

He hadn’t realized how passionate he’d gotten about defending Parker. The drug trade saw more than its fair share of repeat offenders, enough that Ivan didn’t much believe they could be rehabilitated, but Parker was different. He had to be. Ivan couldn’t bear it if he died or was broken in prison.

Kurt pressed his lips together, but the weight of his too knowing stare was too much to take. Instead, he let his gaze dart around the room. A rather shockingly white room, now that he was paying attention.

“Ivan, listen to me.”

“You ever hear of paint? It comes in colors. You should think about it.”

“Ivan, for God’s sake.”

Ivan sighed and looked Kurt full in the face.

“This is wrong. I don’t know why you agreed to this. I don’t know why Sarge asked you to. But this stinks.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ivan let out a laugh bordering on hysterical. “I never even thought Sarge liked me much. Surprised me all to hell when he trusted me with this, but there are times, times when I feel eyes on me. People watching, even though I can’t see them. I think he expected me to fail. That he’s setting me up for… something. That’s crazy, though, isn’t it?”

Ivan bit his lip until it bled, because more hysterical laughter bubbled up in his chest, and he couldn’t let Kurt hear it. He was losing his fucking mind.

“Ivan, man, you’re one of the best detectives I know. I can’t believe Sarge is setting you up. I can’t see any possible reason for that. None. Maybe there is a mole, and maybe Sarge got rattled by that, enough that he fucked up your assignment. And believe me, he seriously fucked up here. I’m telling you right now, I don’t want you to continue this. But if you feel you must, I’ll let Simon know. I can’t do much; I’m on leave too. But you can go to him, if you need anything. Got it?”

Simon. As a newcomer to the force, he’d be unlikely to be connected to the mole, and besides, this was obviously a Drug Squad issue, not Homicide.

Ivan nodded. “Thanks.”