Fish Out of Water (14 page)

He was glaring at Jackson so hotly Jackson could feel his shoulders twitch.

“Yeah,” he muttered defensively. “Well, I know that
now
.”

Ellery grunted and shoved his hair back from his face. Since he’d come out of the shower with no product in it whatsoever, Jackson had begun to see the kid who’d been bullied by his parents at Christmas. His jaw looked strong when he was wearing a suit, but in the harsh light of the kitchen, as he sat there in what amounted to pajamas, it looked bony and obtrusive. The scowl he leveled so effectively at people on the stand became a squint, and he had a tendency to blink when he was baffled or irritated about something.

These things should have put Jackson off, but no. Instead, they made the guy look a little bit dear.

Jackson liked the man behind the curtain. He was human. Jackson just hoped he could put his armor back on when it was time to keep Kaden out of danger.

“I don’t understand,” Ellery muttered, wandering some more. “You have the copies of your case files, but there’s shit missing. Did you even
look
at this when they gave it to you?”

“No,” Jackson admitted. “I was breathing through a tube at the time. Kaden said my IA lawyer sent them to my house. Mike was getting my mail, and apparently they kept me from getting evicted and shit, so, you know, I got home, there they were.”

“So.” Ellery checked the list in front of him. “We’ve got Walt Hanline, the ADA; Paul Emory,
his
assistant; Bess Carillo, your IA liaison; and Leo Finch, your IA lawyer—those were the other four people.”

“Yeah.” Idly, Jackson leafed through his file, although he could have sworn he’d read it a million times already.

Ellery said the name just as Jackson saw it in the file.

“Then who in the fuck is Bill Chisholm?”

Jackson slow-blinked and pulled out the documents he’d just spotted. “You mean this motherfucker here with his signature all over the papers closing the case? I’ve got no fucking idea.”

“Esquire,” Ellery muttered. “He’s a lawyer. Who in the hell is he working for? It doesn’t say, he’s just—there should be a document here, one that specifically tells us who all the parties are, named in the process, and it’s
not here
.”

Jackson squinted at the paper. “Okay. So tomorrow, after Kaden’s hearing, I look up these people and we have ourselves a reunion. I figure out who the hell Bill Chisholm is and I ask him what his fingerprints are doing all over my fucking file. But none of this helps
Kaden
tomorrow. I mean, our gut hunch that the dirty cops now are connected to the dirty cops then is
great
, but what do we do for K?”

“No—no, this helps. It does,” Ellery insisted. “Because….” He closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Shit?”

“Shit, all we have is your word for it that the cops were shaking Connie down.”

“Ya think?” Oh Lord. There went Connie’s face, miserable and terrified, scrolling in front of Jackson’s eyes before the red matter and bone followed. “We might have had some proof that K was roofied, but—”

“Got burned up.”

“I was fuckin’
there
,” Jackson snarled. He took six deep breaths. Then four more. Something. There was something here. This had dirty written all over it, but
proof—

“How’d you do on the picture?” He met Ellery’s eyes hopefully.

Ellery nodded but not with the assurance he’d been hoping for. “I’ve already got a motion to dismiss the case based on contamination of the chain of evidence.”

“But even if they dismiss the case—”

“Which I can’t guarantee.” Ellery had been wandering aimlessly, and suddenly he let out the equivalent of a roar and launched into a series of jumping jacks. He startled Jackson so badly he jerked and toppled the chair, ending up on the floor looking up.

Right at Ellery’s flopping chrome balls.

Ellery stopped and looked down at him, squinting. For the first time, it occurred to Jackson that he must have contact lenses—he might have taken them off when he’d showered. “What in the hell are you doing?”

Jackson couldn’t stop the semihysterical laugh. “Would you believe I was watching your junk flap?
Jesus
!” With a groan, he pushed himself up and righted the chair, pretending not to see how Ellery Cramer, badass attorney, put both hands in front of his crotch and blushed.

“I was trying to get the blood flowing,” Ellery said with dignity.

“Yeah, yeah—I figured.” Jackson closed his eyes and stretched, feeling the pull in his bullet scars and glutes and thighs, in his back and shoulder muscles, and finally in his neck. “I just have a dirty mind. But back to Kaden—”

“Did you two ever—”

Jackson looked at him sharply. “What? No! Kaden doesn’t work that way.”

“Okay.” Ellery bit his lip. “Just checking.”

“Can we keep him out of prison now?” Jackson wasn’t really
mad
at the question; he was mostly embarrassed. It was embarrassing to be the guy who had reflexes like a cat when he was the cat who fell off the television.

“Okay, I’ve got it.” Ellery mimicked Jackson’s stretching movements, pulling his T-shirt tight against his surprisingly muscled chest. The whole inappropriate-junk moment was forgotten in the flash of hope.

“What? What do you have?”

“Okay, so here’s the thing. Whether or not they drop the charges, the doctored photograph means we need time. And it throws suspicion on the police, which means that maybe we can ask for protective custody for your friend and his family. He’ll still be under arrest and awaiting trial, but—”

“He won’t be in jail. I hear you. Okay, it can buy us some time.”

A giant spring uncoiled in Jackson’s stomach. Okay. Kaden and his family—he was doing something. He had a plan.

He glanced at the clock and moaned. It was past eleven. “Shit. I’ve got to call Rhonda and the kids—”

“Tell them to be there at the courthouse and have stuff packed. Give their pets to the neighbors—”

“Jade will stay and take the house,” Jackson said with some confidence. “Don’t worry, we have their backs. I’ll call Denny too and give him Mike’s number.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to type up my memoranda and notes.” He paused. “Look, this whole thing might be stronger if I ask for protective custody and don’t even discuss bail—”

Jackson nodded. “Yes. Yes to that.” Connie. Just… just
standing
in his yard. “Do you think I want him or his wife and kids hanging out at home where anyone can get them?”

“What about Jade?” Ellery asked softly.

Jackson thought about it. “I think her job with the firm makes her too much of a risk to take out.” His heart beat in his throat as he said it. Jade. He couldn’t even think… but they needed her to pick up the pieces of Kaden’s life. God, what could a stupid, fucked-up, broken system do to a family without someone to watch its back? “I’ll leave it up to her, though.” He grimaced. “And I’ve got to make that phone call right now.”

He’d turned his body, but he and Ellery were still looking at each other in the electric pause between actions.

Ellery’s intensity had returned, and his eyes darkened, hooded and sharp, focusing on Jackson’s face.

For the first time in years, Jackson fought the urge to fidget.

Lost.

“What?” he asked explosively, pulling his hand through his hair. It had dried wild, a thousand different directions, and he hadn’t cared, but now, for the first time in… well, ever, he was aware that he was… unimpressive.

Ellery looked away, biting his lip. “So… the couch?”

“Guest bedroom’s fine if you don’t mind tripping over the weight sets.” Jackson shrugged. “There’s some blankets in the closet, and pillows too—make self comfy.”

“We’ll have to get up really early—I need a clean suit.”

D’oh! “God, yeah. I’ll bring my skateboard and tag along to the courthouse. I can catch a bus to a car lot after that.” God. He had money—the Toyota had been paid off, and he’d received a settlement after he’d been injured—but… a car. He’d not been planning on buying a car right now. He swallowed that and remembered that he had a debt. “I’m grateful,” he admitted. “You picking me up. Hanging out here so we could go over this. It’s… you know. Above and beyond.”

“Well, I guess Ms. Cameron said it best—I’m only doing it for myself.” His mouth twisted bitterly.

“I don’t believe that,” Jackson said softly, and then he turned to go, breaking eye contact, breaking the moment. And goddammit, he owed this man a little bit of truth.

He turned back. “Uh….” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t hear… okay, not gonna lie. You’re going to hear me… sleeping. I don’t sleep great. Just—you know, when I start to make noises, do me a favor and just call out to me, okay? Knowing someone’s here usually grounds me.”

A body in the bed did it, 99.999 percent of the time. Only Jade ever really knew how bad it got, and that was because when he’d known it was going to be really bad, he’d asked her to stay over. He’d needed someone to shake him awake because he couldn’t stop screaming.
Most
of the time just having someone in the house did it, which was why his guest room and his couch were clean and prepped for visitors. Whether he managed to convince someone to sleep in his bed or not, when he felt the bad shit coming, he could almost always talk someone into the couch.

It was cute that Ellery assumed he was hot enough to get lucky every night. Why would Jackson disabuse him of that notion? Sometimes it was true. Hell, a
lot
of the time it was true.

But just as often it was Jackson asking unashamedly if someone could sleep on his couch in case the bad dreams came. He spread it out—nobody got put upon more than once a year or so.

He used Mike as a last resort, because Mike would hear through the walls if Jackson didn’t get someone else to come sit with him through his stupid neurosis.

But it just wasn’t honest not to tell Ellery it was coming. He’d been damned human.

Right now he was gaping at Jackson like he’d done something heinous—picked his nose and flicked the boogers in his soup, maybe?

“You… you have nightmares
every night
?”

“No!” He felt affronted. “I… I just know,” he said with dignity. “Once, maybe twice a week. I can feel it coming. When it’s bad, a friend in bed usually stops it.” He scowled. “I said we’re not doing that yet.”

Ellery nodded, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah. Okay. Go do your stuff. I’ll make myself at home. Don’t mind the screaming in the bedroom, got it.”

Jackson forced himself to roll his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. Don’t you think, if it was
really
bad, I’d have gone and gotten help by now?”

A strange sort of rictus contorted Ellery’s face. “You,” he said after an awkward moment, “are the most exasperating man I have ever met. The fact that we are even
remotely
attracted to each other terrifies me in the pit of my
balls
.
Have a good night, Jackson, because I’m going to sleep like a fucking
baby
.”

He turned then and picked his cell phone up from the charger. Jackson used that as his cue to go make his own calls.

HE’D KNOWN
they were coming, though. At twelve thirty, after talking to Jade, Rhonda, Denny, Mike, and then Jade again, and
then
Rhonda again, he’d shut off the light in his room and shut the door. Billy Bob hopped up on the pillow next to his, and he let the fucker because the damned cat had no manners and didn’t give a shit.

He buried his hands in Billy Bob’s ragged fur and closed his eyes, trying to picture anything—open blue sky, a field of flowers, a fish tank, snow in July—
anything
to ward off what was coming.

But it was no good.

Patrick Hanover had never touched him—wasn’t bi or gay and hadn’t hated gay men in any way, shape, or form.

But maybe it was because he’d told Ellery the story of the day Rhonda had almost been raped, her pretty yellow shirt torn off her slender body, wrecked so badly that Jackson had walked home shirtless to cover her up, because K’s shirt had been destroyed in the fight. He hated reliving that day, the helplessness, that terrifying knowledge that the three of them were giving that fight their
all
and it still wasn’t going to make any difference.

So maybe it was the helplessness.

Maybe it was the memory of Hanover banging the girl behind the hotel. That sick dread, that soiled sexuality—the invasiveness of corruption that Jackson had been forced to swim in. It had been like swimming in a pool of maggots. It didn’t matter how he sealed all the entrances and exits, that sickness was going to find its way in.

So as he fell asleep, he could feel Hanover’s hands on his body, unwanted, crawling, probing, and then the hands became tentacles, painful, sucking bits of his flesh into their grip. One stuffed itself into his mouth, and one bound him across the thighs, caressing his flaccid, hiding cock. One probed between his thighs, into his asshole, with knowing little wriggles.
You like this. Don’t you wanna? Don’t you wanna be? Don’t you want me in you? You can be a dirty cop…. Don’t you want that to fill you up? Let me in, let me fuck you, I’ll take over your skin….

And he didn’t scream. Not yet. Because he was strong, and he knew he was strong, and the dream didn’t batter itself against his strength anymore.

No, the dream knew where to go to level Jackson Rivers.

Sometimes it was Jade being beaten, being raped. Sometimes it was Kaden being gunned down, his brains painting the pavement, a grinning gunman with a badge standing behind him. Rhonda being raped as a child. Their children being desecrated and harmed—Jackson’s dreams were merciless, and he thought he was ready for them all.

But he wasn’t ready for a stranger—a pale, proud-jawed, brown-eyed stranger—regarding him quizzically, that challenging squint making him look skeptical and irritated but not scared.

God, you need to be scared!

And then, while Ellery stared at Jackson in wonder, the thing, the insidiousness, began to crawl along his pale skin, tinge it gray, scaly, gelatinous, crusty garbage green, and he didn’t see, he just stared in disbelief as the same thing embraced Jackson, drew him deeper into foul, stenched darkness.