Fight (13 page)

The man had presence, and he knew when to use it. I followed, relieved enough that here, at least, were people who only wanted to help, that I didn't mind the way he ordered me about. From what I'd seen of his relationship with Brian, he was used to being obeyed, and I had no reserves left anyway.

Vic came after us, directing us into the bathroom and handing over the first aid kit. He didn't stick around, and Lil worked in comforting silence. The process of getting the old, bloodied bandages off and new ones applied left me giddy and light headed. Finally, he finished and I sat on the edge of the tub trying to find the energy to move. A minute later, it was Vic who came in to fetch me.

"All right?” He lowered himself onto the closed toilet seat and peered at me. Every movement was stiff, as though he was barely managing to hold himself together and upright.

"No.” It was completely irrational to want to throw myself into his arms and hope it all went away. I wasn't sure I could deal with any of it.

He nodded. “I made soup if you're up to it."

I gazed at the new bandages around my wrists. Lil had washed away the old blood, cleaned me elbows to fingertips. It was the only part of me that didn't feel dirty and tainted.

Again, Vic nodded. “Bath first. Then food, then sleep."

I lifted my gaze to him. “You a mind reader?"

His smile, even shining through his own strain, made my breath catch. He reached out and cradled the side of my face with one hand. I vaguely wondered what his dark skin would look like against my paler, freckled cheek. “No.” His thumb moved gently, and my lids fluttered involuntarily. “Just not completely oblivious.” His thumb continued lower, over my lips, and I didn't resist the urge to turn my head into his touch.

I needed to ask him questions. About Brian. About how he knew so much about me. I should have been more careful. I didn't know a thing about him, and he seemed to know everything about me. That wasn't normal. But then, what about my life was? He offered comfort, and what felt like safety. Lil trusted him enough to listen to him, and Lil didn't listen to anyone.

"Okay.” His hand moved, caressed along the back of my neck, and I realized my eyes had drifted closed. “Don't fall asleep in the tub.” I jerked upright as he reached across me, turned on the faucet, and set the plug. “I'll fetch clean clothes. Be right back."

I stood as he moved to the door. “Vic."

He turned back.

"Thank you."

After a slight pause, he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “For what? Believing your boyfriend is a mass murderer? Stalking you? Arresting you?” He snickered, but it was just a tired, defeated sound.

"For whatever it is that makes me trust you anyway."

He nodded, and as I watched, some of the strain fell away. His eyes unshuttered. There was so much in there I didn't understand, but nothing to fear. “I'm through letting him hurt the people I care about, Paul. Job be damned. You're more important than a badge."

"You don't even know me."

He smiled, a kind of expression aimed almost mockingly at himself. “But I want to.” He opened the door, stepped out, but looked back at me from the other side. “You okay with that?"

I think my grin came off crooked and a little idiotic. I could blame it on too little sleep, no food, on light-headed loopiness and the complete chaos that had become my life. Or not. “I'm okay with that, yeah."

When I emerged from the bath almost an hour later, Lil sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of cooling instant soup in front of him. He was glaring up at Vic.

"What's going on?” I glanced between the two of them.

Vic stood with his hands on his hips, his angry expression a mask for something deeper. I could still see that look in his eyes, too close to panic. He didn't like being out of control, and Lil was not someone who would stand for being controlled.

I backed off a step or two.

"No.” Vic frowned more deeply, crossed his arms in front of himself, and refused to let Lil look away.

"What, I'm a prisoner now?"

"No. Just...” Vic sighed and slumped into the chair opposite him, deflated. “Why take the chance? For what? Pantyhose and pumps?"

"Don't mock.” Lil's fingers tightened into fists, hiding his perfect manicure.

Another sigh. “I'm not mocking.” He reached over and patted Lil's hand, then got up again and headed to the stove. “I just don't think it's a good idea. In fact, I think you should just call in tomorrow and stay here. Where you're safe."

"Vic.” Lil rolled his eyes. “I'm a big boy."

Vic returned, plonked another bowl of soup on the table opposite Lil, and leaned over him. “Tell me Brian didn't say that exact thing when you left for work last night."

Lil snarled at him. “I don't need you to babysit me."

Vic straightened, arms crossed over his chest again and feet spread, exactly like I remember my father doing back before he fell apart, when he was trying to look stern.

"Him, on the other hand...” Lil continued, waving a hand in my direction. “He needs a good grounding. Keep him out of jail."

Heat flooded my cheeks. “Asshole.” I plopped into the seat where Vic had set the soup.

"Pantywaist.” Lil picked up his spoon and delicately sipped his soup.

Vic burst out laughing.

We both watched him for a minute. The aggression drained away with some of the tension from Vic's shoulders. His stance eased, and he rubbed a hand over his face.

"Humor an old alpha dog, would you, Lil? At least let me take you over there. You can pick up what you need, and I'll bring you back here."

Lil rolled his eyes again, but he nodded. “Fine."

That's when Vic's cell rang. He took the call and wandered off toward the kitchen again. I couldn't hear everything. I did hear a name and a lot of cursing from Vic.

"Kevin.” I set my spoon down without having touched my soup. I knew I had to be pale. The room spun a bit. Kevin. That had been the name Vic muttered into his phone, as though trying to place it. I didn't have trouble.

"Who's Kevin?” Lil reached across the table to touch my hand.

I pulled it back into my lap. “Carl's father's name is Kevin."

From across the room, I could feel Vic's gaze on me. “Lil, I've called in a uniform to meet us at your place. I have to go in to the station. He'll bring you back here."

When Lil started to protest, Vic shook his head sharply. “Please, Lil.” Vic was staring at me, and I saw the rest of his request in his eyes. He didn't have to say it out loud.

"He doesn't want to leave me alone, Lil.” A few days ago, that much over-protectiveness would have made me crazy. Now, I met Lil's gaze and only just managed not to ask him to stay and to hell with his pantyhose.

Vic's next, quiet statement set my gut churning. “Carl's back in action. He's killed his father. Probably on his way back into town. I have to go."

He didn't say
I have to find him
, but it was all over his face. God, I hoped he found Carl before Carl found him.

"There's just no end to this bloody nightmare,” Lil whispered.

I started shivering again.

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Carl sat outside Paul's place, fingertips drumming the centre of the steering wheel. He'd driven from Greg's and arrived back in town, safe under cover of darkness. For a while he'd watched. Young people occupied those homes, and any one of them could come back from a night of clubbing and spot him. An hour passed, him seeing no one, so he slipped out of the pickup and entered the building. The silence inside cloaked Carl, and his footsteps echoed, giving the feeling he was the only person on the planet. Unnerved by that thought, he slid the key into the lock on Paul's front door and stepped inside. If Paul was home it meant someone else had posted bail—probably that fucking Brian or Lil—but if he wasn't...
Then my plans haven't been fucked up.

He searched the rooms, pleased at finding them all empty. In a bold move, but unable to stand not knowing for sure, he used the landline to call the police station. Disguising his voice, he enquired whether Paul was in residence there.

"Who's calling, please?” a bored-sounding desk jockey asked.

"A friend."

"And your name is?"

"Listen, is Paul Miller there or not?"

"Hold the line, please."

Shit.

Carl gripped the receiver then slammed it back into the cradle, the sudden thought of line tracing sending dread through him. How long had that line been open? Wasn't it thirty seconds before they could get a trace? He laughed at his stupidity. Paul's home number would have been logged right away.

Fuck!

He left the apartment, taking the stairs in a mad rush and skidding on each landing. Outside, he scanned the area, running across the grass to the pickup, head down, heart beating way too fast. Once in the driver's seat, he gunned the engine and pulled away, his destination the police station. Crazy, fucking crazy going there after that call, but he had to know. A part of him admitted something was off. Why wouldn't that cop just tell him whether Paul was there? All right, he'd probably been hauled in on a murder charge—or two—but Christ, a simple yes or no wasn't too much to ask, was it?

At a red light he scrubbed his palm over his chin. Wouldn't be long before he had a full-on beard—and that wasn't a bad thing. A sense of shit having gone down gripped him, like he knew for a fact things hadn't panned out as he'd hoped. That he was being hunted. He chuckled, wondering if he knew this due to a higher calling letting him know.

Behave your fucking self. This is you, not some otherworldly entity orchestrating things. Probably instinct. Yeah, I can go with that.

At the police station, he reversed into a parking space in a line of vehicles outside. Five uniformed officers stood on the steps on a smoke break, their exhalations joining as one cloud above their heads before vanishing. A suited guy came out to join them, striking a match on a bright yellow box and lighting a cigarette.

Detective. Gotta be.

How could Carl find out what the hell was going on? He smiled as a thought snaked into his mind. Could he do it and get away with it? Nodding and adjusting his cap, he got out of the car and headed toward the cops, who looked up as he neared.

"Can y'all help me?” he drawled. “I heard my brother's in there. Think he might need bail postin'.” He smiled, lips closed, keeping his eyes narrowed. “Got a call from our mama tellin’ me to get my ass down here and haul that sucker out! Damn fool. Told him time and again not to steal no shit."

The suited cop crushed his cigarette beneath his heel then picked up the stub. He shook his head and returned inside, disappearing through a doorway.

"No one in the cells—for once,” said a burly uniform, smoke curling from his mouth with each word. “You sure you got the right cop shop? Might have been taken to the one in Drummington. Depends where he was picked up."

Carl slapped his thigh. “Aww, damn me! My mama said this one, but you can sure as shit say she's got it wrong.” He smiled again then sighed. “Looks like I need to give her a call and find out where my bro really is, ‘cause man, she'll be frettin’ until I get him out.” He raised a hand in thanks and walked back to the pickup. In the driver's seat, he peered toward the steps, but the cops had gone inside.

He peeled out of his spot, wondering where Paul was. Drummington station—they wouldn't have taken him there. No, he'd be with that fucking Brian and Lil.

Probably just Lil. Too much to hope I nicked an artery or something.

He headed toward Brian's place, musing on whether to knock them up or just watch. He dickered between the two options for the whole drive, keeping his visual attention on the traffic, sparse as it was, in case any cops patrolled. Last thing he needed was the pickup being spotted. Easing the vehicle around a corner, Carl slowed to a stop opposite Brian's apartment. He glanced up at the building, the large living room windows facing him, and the sight of a light on inside Brian's gave him hope. Maybe Paul had been released, hence someone being awake up there, or maybe that Lil was on one of his weird-ass shifts. If Paul was out of jail—if, indeed, he'd even been inside in the first place—it didn't matter.

The bail option would have worked out so well, me saving Paul and all, but I'll think of some other way to make him grateful he has me. Yeah, he'll be damn grateful by the time I'm done. No fucking doubt about that.

Someone walked past Brian's living room window. Not Brian, Lil, or Paul. No, some guy Carl didn't recognize, what with the fast pace the dude had walked. He moved past again, phone clamped to his ear, and Carl strained to make out his features. Nothing registered as familiar, and he frowned.

Who the fuck is that? And why the hell have they got someone over in the middle of the night?
He laughed, the sound loud, startling him.
Unless they're having a gang bang. Wouldn't put it past that Lil. Weird motherfucker.

The guy didn't pass the window again, and Carl remained vigilant, gaze glued to that building, his observations rewarded when Lil approached the window and snapped the drapes shut.

Shit
.

Seconds later, someone stepped through the main doorway, and Carl hunched down in his seat. He followed the guy's progress, the shape of him shrouded by shadows, but it was the same man from Brian's apartment. His side profile matched. The man strode to the curb behind the pickup, and Carl stared at him in his rearview mirror. The guy unlocked a low-slung sports car then slid into the seat.

Flashy bastard.

An engine hummed, and the car eased past the pickup. Carl stared inside, the sight of the driver sending him crazy with hatred.
That damn fucking guy Paul stared at a while back. What the hell is he doing round Brian's?
Anger spiking inside him, Carl followed his instincts and swerved out of his parking space, trailing the sports car far enough back that he'd appear like any other driver.
Nothing to see here, I'm just taking a nighttime drive
.