Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (8 page)

Except he was, damn it.

A few things were still tucked in the back of his closet. Nate rummaged around until he found a pair of holey, too-tight jeans and a white T-shirt he’d accidentally shrunk in the wash and planned to cut up into dust rags.

The outfit wasn’t bad, especially with his hair combed out and slicked back. His tiny bit of Nanticoke blood meant his beard grew incredibly slowly, and the four days’ worth of stubble lingering on his cheeks and chin was barely visible. The combination worked, though. He looked more like an aging rent boy than a cop.

Time to head down to the working boys’ side of the city and see if anyone remembered a dead guy named Mitchell Spokes.

Pot O Gold wasn’t the place James most wanted to go after lying to his best friend’s face, but it was there or sit home and stew. He wasn’t much for stewing. An overabundance of bad emotions had sent him out in search of some kind of physical release. Dancing would do for now, but he wouldn’t turn down a good offer for more. The problem, he realized the instant he walked into the thrumming bass of the club, was no one in that bar fit the bill.

The person he most wanted to be with thought he wasn’t attracted to him.

For the umpteenth time tonight, he cursed himself for a fucking fool.

He slipped through the crowds, watching, sometimes dancing, sipping at one peach mojito. A few times, he swore that one of the bartenders was giving him dirty looks. He didn’t know Donner well—great ass, nice cock, more alpha than the black eyeliner he wore at the Pot let on—so he wasn’t sure why the guy had him on his shit list. They’d fucked once, ages ago, and James remembered them both having a pretty good time, so he chalked it up to indigestion and ignored him.

He finished his beer and considered giving up for the night—until a flash of white-blond captured his attention. Ezra Kelley was bobbing through the crowd toward a booth, three drinks in his hands. He sat down with a pair of guys James had seen burning up the dance floor a few times, and whose names he’d never caught.

Maybe he was too much of a chickenshit to tell his best friend the truth, but he could man up and apologize to Ezra.

He waited until Ezra’s friends had cleared out of the booth, then eased his way over. Ezra looked up, surprise widening eyes that were currently a vividly fake green. He did seem to love his contact lenses.

“Hey, sorry about the other night.” James had to lean in to be heard without shouting.

“Forget it,” Ezra replied. The tension in his jaw betrayed his lack of sincerity.

James didn’t deserve forgiveness, but he had to get this out. “No, seriously, Ezra. I drank too much and I should have asked before anything happened. I don’t usually do that kind of shit.”

“You mean shove people up against walls?”

His face got hot.
I am a certified douche bag.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Ezra shrugged. “My fault too. I knew better.”

Nothing about that night had been Ezra’s fault. “So we’re cool?”

He hesitated. Nodded. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

“Great.” James didn’t really feel his smile, and politeness required him to ask, “Buy you a drink?”

“No thanks. I buy my own drinks.”

“Right. See you around, then.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t breathe normally again until he was on the other side of the room. His skin prickled with awareness, and damn it all, Donner had been glaring at him. He watched Donner’s attention shift toward Ezra’s booth. The expression changed. Became hotter. Expectant.

Interesting.

His phone buzzed with a text message.

Boxer:
Rusty Nail toasting Doug. Stop by if free.

Nothing was shaking out for him at the Pot, so James texted back that he was on his way.

The walk to his car in the brisk spring night woke him up after the sweaty heat of the club.

Toasting Doug wasn’t actually high on his priorities list, considering what the dead bastard had done to Elliott. He was going in order to be with his friends.

His phone buzzed again as he hit unlock on his key fob. An insistent buzz. Phone call.

Kate Alden’s name lit up the screen. A social worker calling on a Saturday night meant bad news for a kid.

Good thing I only had one drink.

“Hey, Kate,” he said.

“James, good, I’m glad you answered.” She was out of breath, not her usual collected self. Noise in the background suggested a public place.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your friend Nathan’s here in the ER.”

“What?” A chill spread from his heart throughout his chest, pressing hard. “What’s he doing in the ER? A case?” Nathan had a bad habit of working too much, so he could be in the hospital for a lot of reasons. It didn’t explain why Kate was calling him about it.

“No, not a case. At least I don’t think so. I was at the nurse’s station conferring about a new assignment of mine when someone was brought in via ambulance. I didn’t get a good look at the guy’s face because of the bandages, but he’s about Nathan’s size with black hair, and when the on-call doc asked for a name, the EMT said Nathan Wolf. I mean, it might not be your Nathan but—”

“How many black-haired Nathan Wolfs can live in Wilmington? Fuck.” Nathan brought in on a gurney. Nathan hurt. Bandages on his face. He yanked open his car door and all but fell inside. “What hospital?”

“Saint Francis.”

“I’m on my way.”

James ended the call. His thumb hovered over the button to call Nathan because Nathan was his go-to when he was scared. But Nathan wasn’t going to answer his phone because he was in the fucking hospital, and James didn’t know why. He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and stabbed his key into the ignition. The key missed and slipped, and he almost stabbed himself in the leg.

Calm down, asshole.

He inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. It did nothing to calm his racing heart or to steady his trembling hands. He got the key in, nearly clipped another car backing out of the jam-packed public lot, and drove back to the hospital he’d hoped to avoid for a while.

Images of Doug, brain-dead and wasting away, flashed in his mind. Bile scorched the back of his throat. Nope. He couldn’t think like that. He had to stay positive. There were a thousand reasons for someone to be brought to the ER via ambulance.

And very few of them were good reasons.

Somehow he made it to the parking garage without a single accident or speeding ticket, and from there he ran. He’d been in and out of the ER enough times during his career that he didn’t have to hunt through the hallways for the right direction. Kate sprang from a chair in the waiting room, her skirt and blouse wrinkled, a worn leather briefcase clutched to her chest.

“Have you heard anything?” he asked. “Why’s he here?”

“I haven’t had a chance to ask yet,” Kate replied. “I just finished up with the case I was here for, and I had to make a phone call.”

He made a beeline for the nurse at the check-in desk. “Was Nathan Wolf brought in a little while ago?” he asked.

The nurse typed something into her computer. “Yes, he was brought in by ambulance.”

“What room? He’s family.”

“One moment.” She frowned, still typing. “He’s no longer in the ER.”

“What? Was he released already?”

“No, he was moved up to the surgical floor.”

James grabbed the edge of the desk, his vision blurring. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have that information. Do you know—?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Kate trailed him to the elevators, and once inside he stabbed the button for the fourth floor. He didn’t expect her to go with him. They didn’t have a personal relationship to speak of, and most of their conversations revolved around hurt and abused children. The support meant everything.

He found the nurse’s station outside the surgical waiting room. Before he could accost one of the nurses, he heard his name.

Detective Wallace Carey strode toward him. He didn’t know the silver-haired detective very well, but their paths had crossed a few times in the name of justice for children. He knew that Nathan respected the hell out of the senior detective. Jeans and a sweatshirt hinted that Carey hadn’t been on the clock when he got the call.

“What happened to Nate?” James demanded, his patience stretched beyond his ability to be polite. He needed information right the hell now.

“I don’t have a lot of details because I didn’t get the call,” Carey replied, “but I do know he was assaulted.”

“What?” His insides curled up tight, squeezing the air out of him. Assaulted could mean a lot of things, all of them bad. “Where? Who did it?”

“Dispatch got a call from a guy who said he was hanging out around the 7-Eleven at Fourth and Union, and another guy was there asking questions about someone named Mitchell Spokes. He’s the vic in a murder case Nathan caught yesterday. Nathan must have gone asking around. Goddamn fool for going alone, without backup.”

“What did this guy see?”

“The witness said he got to talking to someone, which is probably code for he got picked up and was busy sucking dick for fifty bucks.” The sneering way Carey spoke made James’s hackles raise. “Caller said he was occupied for about an hour, then went back to the 7-Eleven.

Didn’t see Nathan around. A little after midnight he decided to hang out someplace else. Started walking north on Union. Heard a noise as he was passing an alley between Frankie’s and Open Sesame. He found Nathan and called 911.”

“How badly was he hurt?”

“I don’t know. All I got from the people downstairs is he’s pretty worked over.”

“Fuck.” Kate’s hand slid around his wrist and squeezed. James tried to corral his racing thoughts. “Why’s he in surgery?”

“I’m not a fucking doctor, Doc.” Carey’s own anxiety was peeking through. He was genuinely worried for Nathan.

“I’m sorry, I’m kind of freaking out. Nate’s everything.”

Truth. Nathan was everything, and now he was hurt, in surgery, and the last thing James had ever said to him was a lie.

Just like Elliott and Doug.

Fuck that, Nate’s going to be fine.

“This can’t be happening,” James said to no one in particular.

Carey’s phone chimed, and he stepped away to take the call.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Kate asked.

“Nate’s always my first call.” He glanced up and down the corridor, needing something but unsure what. No, not true. He needed his best friend not to be in surgery right now. “I don’t want to call his parents until I know what’s going on.”

“What about friends?”

“A friend of ours died today.”

“Oh my God, James, I’m so sorry. Jesus Christ, what a day you’re having.”

Understatement of the century.

“Come on, let’s go sit for a little while.” Kate tugged him into the waiting room, which was gloriously empty. Then again, it was after midnight. No one scheduled nonemergency surgeries for this hour.

He sank into a chair, then shot back to his feet when Carey entered. “Anything on Nate?”

“No, that was an update on the investigation. My buddy Larry Parsons caught this one, and he’s keeping me informed.” Carey held up a staying hand. “Please don’t ask me for information. It’s an ongoing investigation, and I can’t tell you anything I wouldn’t normally share with a family member.”

“I know, and I’m not asking you to compromise the investigation. I just want to know what’s happening with Nate.”

“Look, I’ll flash my badge around and see what I can find out. Stay here.”

James stayed put, unable to sit, barely managing Carey’s simple orders to remain in the waiting room. He wanted to fly down the hall and demand answers. He did not wear helpless well. He preferred to be in charge, in the know, with a plan in mind. Waiting for other people to give him answers was hell.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said to Kate, who’d settled into a chair with her briefcase in her lap.

“I know, but you need a friend with you right now. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Except asleep in bed.”

“Sleep is overrated.” She offered a tentative smile. “Nathan’s your best friend?”

“Since college. People used to say it would never work, a gay guy and a straight guy as BFFs.”

“Why’s that?”

“No good reason I could see.”

“One would think it was the perfect relationship. You’d never be interested in dating the same person.”

James snorted, unable to find real humor. “I guess so.”

“Are you sure there’s no one I can call?”

Carey walked back in, his gait less assured, his skin a little bit gray. “He’ll be in surgery for a few more hours, at least.”

“What did the doctor say about his injuries? Why kind of surgery is it?” James strode toward Carey, stopping a few inches from grabbing the man.

“He was stabbed multiple times in the face and throat. Nicked his carotid, so they have to repair that before they can fix the other wounds.”

Oh God.
“He was fucking stabbed? In the face?” His beautiful face.

Carey nodded slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe it either. “He also took several hard blows to the head, ribs and stomach. The throat wounds are their primary concern. Once he’s stable, they’ll deal with the other injuries.”

Throat. Stable. Other injuries. Fuck.

“What other injuries?” Was that really his voice?

“Probable cracked ribs, a fractured wrist.”

“Shit.” James stalked to the far side of the waiting room. “What the fuck was he thinking?”

No one replied to the rhetorical question. No one had any real answers. Nathan was working. He was always working, and this time work had nearly killed him.

Stabbed multiple times in the face and throat.
James wanted to throw up.

Hours passed slowly. Carey took several more calls and shared nothing. Kate dozed in one of the chairs. James paced until his calves ached. Then he stood in a corner. Then he paced some more. Other cops came and went, some in uniform, some not. He only knew they were cops because they talked to Carey and ignored him. A few times he found himself with his phone out, ready to text Nathan, and each time the ball of ice in his stomach grew bigger.