Tequila Mockingbird (14 page)

“I’m almost done. Just making sure nothing’s making Rice Krispie noises,” Wyatt murmured. “You’ve been out for a couple of hours, which is a bit of a concern since you arrived with a linear skull fracture. We’re going to keep you overnight, and we’ve been running tests just to make sure you don’t have internal bleeding. I need to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Unless the doctor had a sudden urge to calculate how many apples little Susie had after a hurricane came by at sixty miles an hour. He’d never been able to figure out the whole tossing words in a math problem.

“Do you know what day it is? Do you know where you are?”

“Sunday.” Forest tried to find the date in his memory, but his head began to throb, and he gave up. “And I’m in a hospital freezing my nuts off.”

“Who’s the governor of the state, do you know?” Wyatt left off feeling Forest’s ribs and went back to another pass of his flashlight over Forest’s face.

“I gave up keeping track after John Pepys died in that tragic gardening accident,” he drawled. “Unless the guy comes around and tells me I’ve won the lottery, it doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

“So, current events, then?” Wyatt frowned. “How about—”

“What happened to Stumpy Joe Childs?” the attendant asked suddenly.

“Choked on vomit, allegedly, but not necessarily his own,” Forest responded automatically. “Because you can’t really dust for vomit.”

“Kid’s fine, doc.” The attendant’s sun-weathered face crinkled under his broad grin.

“Good. I’m done. Let’s get some blankets on him now.” Wyatt dodged the blow like a master, straightening his glasses. The two men helped spread a stack of warmed covers over Forest’s shivering body, and then Wyatt pulled a chair up to sit next to the hospital bed.

Forest didn’t care that the man was sitting too close to him for comfort or that the attendant turned the room lights up before he left. All that mattered in that moment was the blankets’ heat spreading into his body and the sudden relief he got as his joints and muscles loosened.

“I’m going to want to do a couple more tests—just some blood work because your pressure’s a bit low—but I wanted to talk to you about the man waiting for you.” Wyatt had on a face Forest liked to call the tree hugger. He’d seen its sympathetic variations in social workers and new teachers who hadn’t been dragged down by years spent working in the system. “He says his name is Connor—”

“Morgan. He’s out there?” If he hadn’t already been on his back, Forest would have fallen over in shock. “Shit. That’s—kinda cool. Damn.”

“I just need to reassure you that you’re safe here,” the doctor continued. “He says he’s a close friend of yours, but—I have to be honest with you, Forest, your CAT scan results are… troubling. I don’t want to let you go back into a situation where you’re going to be hurt.”

“Hurt?” Forest’s head ached harder, and he struggled to get his hand out from under the heavy blankets. “I think a wall fell on me. Didn’t it? Last thing I remember was Con showing up, and then all of a sudden—bricks.”

“The injuries I’m concerned about aren’t from the accident today, Forest. I’m talking about the ones you got earlier.” Wyatt’s face grew graver, and his eyebrows fought the wrinkles on his forehead for dominance. “You’ve had major trauma to many of your bones and joints. Those weren’t from accidents. Someone deliberately hurt you, Forest. And from what I can make out, pretty badly. Do you want to tell me about that?”

“Not fucking really.” The doctor didn’t know what he was asking. It was like casually suggesting Forest strip naked and roll around in broken glass threads. Then for good fucking measure, taking a bath in the Dead Sea. He didn’t want to think about the fists that made those breaks, especially since, other than his mother, he didn’t even remember a lot of their names. Shaking his head, he said, “Yeah, no. Look—”

“Part of my job is to make sure that once you walk out of here, you’re not going back to a very dangerous home situation.” The doctor leaned closer, and Forest smelled the mint on his breath. Placing his hand on Forest’s arm, Wyatt said, “I can’t let you go home with that man out there if he’s the one who tore you up like this. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Dude, most of this shit is old,” Forest grumbled. “Long before Connor came around. A lot of it’s from… just shit that happened, you know? It’s not Connor. Hell, can’t you tell how old the crap is? Like isn’t it healed over or something?”

“I don’t know how long you’ve been with your friend, Connor,” Wyatt said softly. “You’re very young, Forest, but I’ve seen men… take in younger boys and think they can do what they want with them. I don’t want that for you.”

“Okay, way off base,” he protested from his prison of blankets. “Connor didn’t do jack shit to me. Hell, I’m pretty sure if I even told him what some of my fosters did to me, he’d hunt them down and kill them.”

“I’ve talked to him,” the doctor admitted. “He’s aggressive—”

“He’s a cop!” He was too tired to fight off any more of the doctor’s insinuations, but the idea of Connor doing to him what many of his foster parents did turned Forest’s stomach. “No, really—”

“Forest, I’m saying these things because someone has to. Just because someone is a police officer, it doesn’t mean they are going to treat people nicely. A lot of violent people seek out a career in law enforcement because it gives them a sense of power.” Wyatt patted Forest’s arm again.

“Yeah, I know.”

He’d spent a good portion of his time on the street hiding from a couple of cops. Not because they’d take him in to CPS, but because those were the assholes who usually wanted something hot wrapped around their dicks and not pay for it. They were also good for a beating when Forest refused them, and he’d learned that lesson really quickly. Never say no to a cop unless he had a clear shot at running away.

Marshall spent too many years fighting to break Forest of the habit of running. He’d run often, slinking into the underground and falling back into what he’d been doing before Frank found him. It was a familiar life. One he felt comfortable with. And every time someone knocked Forest’s brain loose from his skull, Frank’d been there to pick up the pieces, dragging Forest back to the Sound until he finally just got tired of running.

“Really, not Connor. He’s a white hat. Shit, his mom probably knitted it for him.” Forest snorted, and that set his head off again. “Hell, the only reason I’m shocked he’s out there is because I figured he must be sick of my shit by now. This is like the third time he’s dragged my ass out of the fire. At some point, the guy’s just going to get up and walk away.”

“I don’t think so,” Wyatt disagreed. “From my conversations with him, I get the feeling that he’s not going anywhere, Forest. No matter how hard you push or how many brick walls fall on you. He doesn’t seem the type of man who is going to just let you go.”

Don’t talk to me about your God

I don’t need your broken bread

Not for my soul

Not for my heart

Not for my countless sins

You want to give me something?

Something to save my wicked soul?

Give me the same as you’ve got

Loving who I want, and leaving me alone.

—
Freedom Torn

“S
OME
STUFF
isn’t any of your business, Kiki,” Connor responded. “Do I want to find out who’s fucking with Forest’s life? Yeah. Do I think the shootings and this van are connected? How can they not be?”

“Random fuckery is never random,” she agreed with a nod. “They’ve got to be connected. I just don’t know how, and the only common denominator I’ve got between your raid and my cases is Forest Ackerman.”

“The property?” Connor mused. “But it’s not like anyone’s going to try to drive him out. It’s not like it’s on the bay. It’s Chinatown.”

“Chinatown’s stepping up its game there, Con,” Kiki replied. “All of the old-world flavor but with Wi-Fi and boba shops. Your boy Forest is sitting on a big chunk of property, and most of it is a parking lot where someone left his father’s shot-up body, then blew up the man’s RV. You don’t think that could be a big Get-The-Fuck-Out sticky note? It could be they didn’t know Marshall had a son, or they figured Ackerman could be forced out easily enough.”

“He hasn’t gotten anyone offering to buy the place.” He made a face, remembering they’d never really talked about the corner lot. “Shit, it’d be a way to drive the price down, but Keeks, it’s Chinatown, not Rock Ridge. The drugs, yeah. I can see that, but who the hell would kill a guy for a half block of property?”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks—to dig this shit out while you break down doors and take names.” She studied her brother for a moment, and Connor definitely saw a bit of their mother in her assessing stare. “I just feel like I’m not getting the whole story out of you, and that pisses me off, Con. If it’s anything about the case—”

“It’s not about the case,” he promised. “And the biggest problem is that you’re my little sister, the same brat who spent most of her life digging up shit on me so she could tattle to our parents. It’s hard for you to break a lifetime habit of sticking your nose into my business.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me if you find out something about the case,” Kiki pressed. “And that you’re not going to go break someone’s head in because they’ve messed with your friend.”

“I can give you the first, Keeks,” Connor rumbled. “But the second? I don’t think that’s a promise I can keep.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” she conceded.

“Mr. Morgan?” The bespectacled, balding doctor barreled out through the ward doors, his coat flapping behind him. “Sorry, Lieutenant, isn’t it? I’m Doctor Wyatt.”

“Morgan’s fine,” Connor replied softly. “Forest? How is he?”

“He’s awake and doing well. We’re just going to do some blood work to rule out some things, and then he’ll be set up in a room.” The man flipped through a sheet of notes on his pad. “You’ll need to have yourself named his domestic partner on his paperwork, but just so you know, we’re keeping him overnight just as a precaution. He’s got a linear skull fracture, nothing overly serious, but still, a fracture is a fracture. He’s young and strong, so he’ll heal up in a couple of days.”

“Fracture? Skull fracture?” Connor chewed on his lower lip. He kept quiet about not being Forest’s partner much less boyfriend, and he shot Kiki a telling look before she could butt in. “How bad?”

“Very slight. Nothing deep, but still, just something we want him to let heal up with rest. You’ll have to watch him for any signs of dehydration. He might want to get out of bed and do laps around the block, but don’t let him. A week of rest would do him good. One of the nurses will let you know when you can see him. For right now, sit tight and maybe get some coffee down at the cafeteria. It’ll be about an hour and a half before you can see your partner.”

“We’re not—” The doctor was gone before Connor finished his sentence, and behind him, his younger sister suppressed a snorting giggle. Relief flooded through him, and a tightness he didn’t know he’d built up in his chest suddenly deflated, unraveling with the doctor’s prognosis, but his sister’s chortle annoyed him. “Shush it, Kiki. You’ve got nothing to be laughing at.”

“I can’t see you in
any
kind of domestic partnership, man or woman. You’re too much of a hardass.” She gave in and barked out a short guffaw. Her phone chirruped from her pocket, and Kiki glanced at it, moaning when she recognized the number. “Shit, it’s Mom.”

“Better answer it. I left the dinner early. She probably wants you to swing by and take home part of that fatted calf she had slaughtered for Damien and Miki.” Connor grinned at his sister’s wrinkled nose.

“I’m just going to head there.” Kiki pointed her finger at her brother. “Don’t think this is over. I’ll tell Mom you’re okay. I bet the phone call wasn’t so much about if I ate dinner as it was making sure you don’t need anything.”

“I think she already sent
that
cavalry,” Connor murmured with a slight grin. A familiar Morgan-shaped man ambled out of the elevator and spotted Connor. Waving as best he could while holding two large cups of steaming coffee, he headed over to the siblings, his attention flicking from side to side as he took in his surroundings. Con punched his brother on the arm when Quinn got within reach, scoffing at the younger man’s dramatic gasp of pain. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

“Mom’s cats wouldn’t drag anything in without chewing it up first,” Quinn murmured, leaning over to kiss their sister on the cheek. “Hello, Kiki.”

“Hi, Qbert.” She hugged Quinn, then tugged at the oddly striped long scarf wrapped several times around his neck. “Hate to tell you this, but this looks a little gay.”

“Really? I was going for very gay. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m wishy-washy about it.” Their soft-voiced middle sibling looked at the knitted wrap trailing down his long body, its tassels brushing his thighs. “Next time, I’ll wear the celery brooch Ryan gave me.”

“And on that note, you’re on your own with the family freak, Con,” Kiki said, slipping around their brother. “I’m going to go fight bad guys—right after I grab some dinner at the ’rents’ house.”