Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (27 page)

It did fucking matter, because James had wanted to celebrate, and it seemed as if maybe Nathan had something to celebrate too.

Nathan looked very deliberately at the two empty beer bottles on the counter. Irritation rippled across James’s skin. He dumped the pair into his recycle bin, then fetched a third from the fridge. “You want one?” he asked.

“Meds, remember?”

“Right. I’ll reheat the chicken, but the rice is past saving.”

“Okay.”

He’d left the oven on three hundred, so he shoved the baking dish back inside. The chicken would probably be dry, but whatever. He was hungry, and if he didn’t want to pass out before nine, he needed something to line his stomach.

“I really am sorry I got caught up,” Nathan said. “We had a solid lead on a serial case.

Wally and I were putting something together with the LT, and it took some overtime.”

Good for you.
“Which case?” Pissed or not, he was still curious what had Nathan so energized when he first arrived.

“The Spokes case, and three other connected murders.”

James’s hand jerked, nearly sloshing his beer. “The case you were investigating when you were attacked?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have a suspect?”

“Not as such. We have a profile, and a working theory of how he’s selecting his victims, based on the one thing they have in common.”

James didn’t ask what that one thing was. Nathan would often share bits of information about his investigations, but he could only tell so much. The same way James couldn’t share everything about his own work with Nathan.

“We’re putting together an undercover operation, laying bait for our perp. If we’re lucky, and we’re right about his sources, he’ll take it.”

His heart jumped at the idea of Nathan making himself vulnerable to a killer. “What kind of bait?”

“Not me, don’t worry. I’m too old. We had a young patrol officer volunteer. Danvers is getting the paperwork we need processed, so Grant can get out there tomorrow and put things in motion.”

“Grant?”

“Pfieffer. I don’t know if you’ve met him, he’s only been on the force for a year. But he’s eager and smart, and he fits the physical profile of our victims.”

“So he’s going to be out alone on the same streets where you were nearly killed?”

Nathan frowned, his whole face getting in on the expression. “He won’t be alone. He’ll have a tracker in his shoe and a car following him from a distance at all times. We are trained for this kind of operation, you know.”

The slap of sarcasm didn’t make James want to ease up. It ticked him off even more.

“Did I say anything?”

“It’s what you’re not saying, Jay, but I’m on desk duty, remember? I won’t be anywhere near the op.”

“Good.”

Nathan crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed into a deep line. “What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what it means.” James pulled from his bottle, grateful for the cold, slightly bitter beer. The gauze around his brain tightened.

“This was my case to start with, you know. I need to see it through. I have four dead men who deserve justice.” He did that cop thing where he stared and assessed. “Is this really about the case, or are you pissed about something else?”

“Like what?”

“Don’t do that. Tell me what’s wrong so we can fix it.”

“We can fix it? I didn’t do anything. I was sitting here watching my dinner go to waste, wanting to celebrate some good news with you, but you were too busy playing detective to call and tell me you’d be late.”

Nathan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not playing detective, I
am
a detective. What the actual fuck, James? You’ve been late for dinner dates plenty of times because of your work. We both have. And you have never had a problem with my job before, so what changed?”

“
Everything
changed, Nate.” James slammed his bottle down, not caring that the beer foamed up and over the lip. Anger and frustration simmered in his gut, fueled by the alcohol in his system. “You’re not just my best friend who’s a cop anymore, you’re my lover. You’re everything to me. If something happened to you again, it would fucking kill me.”

Something in Nathan’s face softened. “I have been a police officer for twelve years, babe.

I’ve never even drawn my gun, and except for a couple of drunks taking swings at me while I was on patrol, this was my first on-the-job incident. The odds of anything like it happening again are seriously skewed in my favor.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being a drama queen.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re implying it. You nearly died this spring, but I’m overreacting because the odds are in your favor. Fine. Good. Glad we’re clear.”

Nathan spread his hands out at his sides like a man surrendering. “Are you trying to pick a fight? Because I don’t understand what this is.”

Am I trying to pick a fight? Maybe. This is why we shouldn’t have gotten involved and
potentially ruined what had always been a great friendship.

Missing dinner never would have been this big a deal if they weren’t—what?

Boyfriends? Partners? They’d never really defined it, Nathan wasn’t out and he had never said “I love you” back to James. Did Nathan really, truly want this relationship, or had the past two weeks simply been a reaction to the assault?

“Talk me to, Jay,” Nathan said.

“Why are you here?”

“What?” Nathan glanced around the apartment, perfectly befuddled by the very direction question. “Here at your place? You invited me for dinner.”

“Over an hour ago.”

“And I apologized for being late. Would you rather I’d canceled and stayed home?”

“Is that what you wanted to do?”

“Of course not. I missed you last night, and I want to spend time with you like we planned.” His cell rang. Nathan grimaced, then yanked the offensive thing out of his pocket. “It’s Danvers.”

James waved a hand at him. “Take it. A detective’s work is never done.”

Nathan walked to the far side of the living room to take the call, while James leaned both elbows against the island. He gulped down the third beer, certain how this night was going to end before Nathan finished his conversation with his boss. He contemplated opening a fourth beer.

Movement in his peripheral vision announced Nathan’s return to the kitchen.

“I’m really—”

“Sorry?” James filled in. “You gotta go in?”

“Yeah. It’s—”

“Important? About the case?”

Nathan flushed. “I’m not doing this to be a bastard, so maybe you could try to do me the same courtesy.”

“Go back to work, Nate.”

“Those men deserve justice for what happened to them. You of all people should

understand that.”

“Because I deal with victims every day?”

“Because of Laurie.”

A silent
and me
seemed to hang off the end of Nathan’s declaration, but James was too angry and tipsy to be sensitive to the subtleties of their argument. “She got justice. Price went to jail.”

“And then he got out. Don’t tell me that hasn’t been eating at you. I was with you the night he was released, remember?”

“Not much of it, no. I was too busy being numb.”

“You were too busy being falling-down drunk.”

“I had a good fucking reason, didn’t I?”

Nathan glared at the empty beer bottle in his hand. “Maybe. What’s yours tonight? Are you going to use this conversation as an excuse to tie one on? Make getting shit-faced okay in your mind, while the rest of the world actually deals with their problems?”

James could tolerate a drinking lecture when he was in Nathan’s home, but he wasn’t going to stand there and take it in his. “Go to work, Nate.”

“Jay—”

“Get out!”

Nathan recoiled, his handsome face going terribly blank. He didn’t glare or stomp on his way to the door. He simply left, without even a backward glance.

The emptiness of the apartment closed in on him. James opened another beer and added it to tonight’s list of mistakes.

“What in the actual hell?”

Nate glared at his steering wheel, waiting for it to answer his question. He’d expected James to be annoyed at him for being late and not calling, but he hadn’t expected an actual fight.

And he wasn’t even sure what they’d been fighting about. Nate’s job had always come with the potential for danger, and it had never bothered James before. Both of their jobs had unpredictable hours and plans got canceled. Such was life with a detective and a shrink.

A detective with PTSD and a shrink with a drinking problem.

We’re a mess.

At least Nate was doing something about his problems. His sessions with Dr. Sands were going well. They’d made progress in the serial case. Finding justice for Mitchell Spokes was about more than the victim—it was about justice for Nate’s own assault, which was still a cold case and likely to remain that way.

Justice for Spokes might give Nate the closure he needed to move past that night. If James couldn’t understand that then he wasn’t the man Nate thought he was.

Please, Jay, please be the man I think you are. The man I need you to be.

Before he headed back to the station, he grabbed his phone and made a call.

When his doorbell rang for the second time that night, James didn’t expect to find Elliott and Boxer standing on the other side. He blinked a few times to be sure, because he’d finished off the six-pack of beer and he’d only managed half a chicken breast since eating alone was too damned depressing.

“I think he’s wondering if we’re real,” Elliott said in a faux whisper.

Boxer rolled his eyes and shouldered his way inside. “He’s drunk.”

“Am not,” James said. He shut the door behind his two new guests, flabbergasted by their being there at all. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”

Elliott ran his fingers through his closely shorn, dyed black locks. “I needed a change.

You like?”

“Dunno.”

“He’s only thirty and he’s having his first midlife crisis,” Boxer said. He helped himself to a bottled water, then sprawled out on the sofa. “Why are you drunk at nine o’clock at night?”

James shrugged as he let his body slither into an armchair. “Good day turned to shit.

Seemed like the right plan.”

Elliott raided his cupboards and came back with a bag of pretzels leftover from his birthday party. Already munching, he perched on the arm of the sofa, feet on the cushion by Boxer’s hip. James stared at his friends, still uncertain how he’d conjured them up.

“Where’s Louis?” he asked.

“Dinner with his folks down in Bear,” Boxer said. Something in his tone indicated that was not necessarily a good thing.

“Without you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s out to them, right?”

“Yes, he is, and they’re pretty accepting. He said he’s not ready to introduce me to them yet.”

“Ouch, honey.” Elliott patted Boxer’s smooth head. “You’ve been together for how long now?”

Boxer shrugged.

James struggled to push away some of his drunken stupor because his friend was having boyfriend issues. He wanted to be an ear to bend, but the world was a little bendy already. “Last time you asked to be exclusive, he said no.”

That got him a glare from Boxer and an openmouthed, “What?” from Elliott.

Shitballs.
That had been their secret. “Sorry, Box.”

“He won’t be exclusive with you?” Elliott crunched the bag of pretzels in his hands. “Is he blind or stupid?”

“He’s young,” Boxer said. “Louis is only twenty-five.”

“You aren’t exactly a dinosaur, honey. You won’t be thirty until November. When did you ask him?”

“June.”

“And you’re still with him?”

“I love him.”

James blinked hard at his friend of six years, positive it was the first time he’d ever heard Boxer say he was in love with someone. Then again, until this past year, Boxer was a casual dater. He’d never been with the same guy longer than a few weeks, never seemed intent on settling down and finding a real boyfriend. Inching closer to turning thirty must have made him reevaluate what he wanted, which apparently
was
a real boyfriend. Louis brought out a possessive tenderness in Boxer that was hidden away most of the time—behind his own past and family drama, and the walls that Boxer had built around his secrets. James knew a lot of them, but he didn’t know them all.

He doubted anyone in their circle really knew everything about Donald Boxwood.

“If Louis doesn’t see how much you care, then he’s a blind fool,” Elliott said.

“I’m sorry,” James said again. He couldn’t wrangle anything else out of his beer-soaked brain.

“Forget it.” Boxer flapped both of his hands in the air. “We didn’t come over to talk about my love life, anyway.”

“You didn’t?”

“We’re staging an intervention,” Elliott said.

“For?”

“You, you hardheaded fool.”

“Me?”
My drinking isn’t
that
bad, is it?

Elliott dropped the mangled bag of pretzels on the coffee table, freeing up his hands to jab into the air. “Nathan called me and told me everything, and fuck you very much for not telling us yourself.”

James’s gut rolled. Nathan had ratted him out to his friends. And told them what? He was drinking beer at home, so go make sure he doesn’t drive off and kill someone?

“I mean, I knew you were hung up on him, but I had no idea he was hung up on you right back, and now you’re together.” Elliott’s voice had gone a little singsong at the end. “It’s very operatic, actually, only hopefully with less tragedy and singing.”

Boxer slapped Elliott’s shin. “Down boy.” To James he said, “Congrats, man. I was wondering if something was up that night at the Pot, but didn’t know how to ask.”

“We’re together,” James said. “I think.”

“You think?” Elliott flung himself off the sofa, arms wrapped tight around his middle.

“What did you do?”

“What did I do?”

“Okay, what did you not do?”

“Elliott, for fuck’s sake, sit,” Boxer said.

Elliott planted his skinny ass on the carpet between the sofa and the armchair.