“He’s on the couch,” he told me before I got a crick in my neck. “The wound is already sealed. He won’t get blood on the fabric.”
“I don’t care about that.” I had scrubbed out worse. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s breathing easier.” He rubbed his face and head dry with quick, hard strokes. “We shouldn’t move him again.”
“I’m staying the night.” Or the next six hours, whichever came first. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“We can’t leave you both unprotected in case whoever started this tracks Miller to your house.” Cole let his scowl deepen. “I’m staying. Thom, you’re with us. Santiago, head home.”
Leaving Portia unprotected overnight was unacceptable as well, so I was grateful Santiago had been dispatched.
“I can rest in your father’s recliner,” Thom declared as he shifted into his boxy kitty persona.
“You can take Dad’s room.” I rubbed the base of my neck. “I put fresh sheets on the bed a few days ago while I was cleaning the upstairs.” I snapped my fingers. “Don’t leave yet, Santiago. I’ll be right back.”
I jogged out to the Bronco to retrieve my souvenir and met him in the living room. He stood with his boots planted far apart, annoyance vibrating through every tensed muscle. Taking a page from Wu’s book, I lobbed the ball of fabric at Santiago’s face. He caught it mid-air and shook out the material.
“What the hell?” Brow furrowed, he scanned the image. The instant its meaning registered, he broke out in a grin so twisted with evil satisfaction he rivaled the Grinch. “Tell me this is real.”
Pleased with my decision to sell Wu down the river, I smiled back with all the wicked intent I could muster. “Check the tag.”
Cole and Thom chased our exchange back and forth with their gazes like they were watching the US Open.
Santiago read “Made in New York” aloud and whooped with unmitigated joy. “That dumb SOB believed me.” He pumped his fist. “I’m damn good at what I do, but I hid you from the NSB. Do you realize how huge that is?”
“Your happy dance clued me in, yes.”
“Maybe I was wrong.” Santiago wiped under his eyes with the hem of the shirt. “Maybe it is Christmas.”
“Mmmrrrrpt.” Unimpressed, Thom swished his stump tail as he leapt onto his perch for the night.
Shaking his head, Cole started climbing the stairs.
“Does this mean you figured out the blind spot?” Santiago had mentioned finding a way to conceal us from Wu should we ever need one. “Will you be able to hide yourself and the others too?”
“Damn skippy.” He tossed the shirt over his shoulder. “I’m in their system now. The chips won’t matter. I can make us invisible.” He patted the wadded fabric. “This proves it.”
“I thought you were just being an ass,” I admitted, “but you were actually being a useful ass.”
“Yeah, well, I can multitask.” Santiago sidled past me. “Thanks for the trinket, and for helping me stick it to that prick.”
“You’re welcome.” I escorted him out, locked up like it mattered when charun weren’t known for knocking, then followed in Cole’s footsteps. He forked left into Dad’s room, and I was smart enough not to follow him in to offer a guided tour. “Night, Cole.”
When he made no reply, I kept walking until I stood at the foot of my bed. Home. The Trudeau house was nice, and it was filled with love, but there was nothing quite as wonderful as being in your own space with your own things.
I passed on a shower, though I needed one. I was too tired to trust my legs to prop me upright for fifteen more minutes. As a compromise, I peeled off the vintage quilt covering my bed, a gift to Dad from his mother, and collapsed facedown on the mattress. The sheets would cost me thirty bucks to replace if bleach couldn’t remove the bloodstains. At this point, I was willing to make the sacrifice if it meant I didn’t have to move again.
Shampoo and fabric softener wafted from my pillow, and I breathed in the comforting scents. I was boarding the sleepy train when heavy footsteps in my open doorway caused the conductor to withhold my ticket. Using maximum effort, I twisted my head to the side and glanced over my shoulder.
The familiar outline of Mt. Heaton blocked the doorway. “Goodnight, Luce.”
Brain muzzy, I watched through drooping lids until he vanished around the corner. I considered getting up and closing the door to discourage another such incident, but that would require working legs and motivation, and I was all out of both. Plopping my face back down in my pillow, I closed my eyes and scrambled after the train, praying I caught up before it left the station.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I snapped awake to a symphony of masculine voices raised in heated debate. I rolled out of bed, rolled too far, hit the floor, decided the floor was an okay place to be, crawled on all fours to the bannister, crawled too far and busted my nose on a spindle, finally peered down into the living room and cursed.
Rixton stood in the foyer dressed in his uniform. His service weapon was trained on Santiago, who had planted his feet apart, barring my partner entrance to the house. Thom blocked off the staircase while Miller watched from his spot on the couch with his lip curled over his teeth.
“What’s going on down there?” I demanded, hauling myself to my feet. “Rixton? Santiago?”
“When you didn’t show up for work, I came looking for you.” His aim didn’t falter. “That’s when I discovered your house has been infested. I saw the Bronco and assumed you were home, but this fella refused to answer any of my questions.”
“Work?” As I plodded down the stairs, my stomach dropped into my toes. “What time is it?”
“Almost five,” Rixton supplied. “I gave you a few hours in case you were tracking down a lead and forgot to give me a heads up.”
“Put the gun down,” I sighed. “They aren’t holding me hostage. I fell asleep upstairs last night. I didn’t realize it was so late. I didn’t think I’d sleep so long. I didn’t even set an alarm.”
Rixton spotted me, and the color drained from his cheeks. “What the hell happened to you?”
I glanced down at the clothes from last night, which did an admirable job of concealing the bloodstains, but Rixton wasn’t a detective for nothing. “Miller had an accident.” Lucky me, I didn’t know what had happened, so I couldn’t tell him what I didn’t know. “I made sure he didn’t bleed to death while he was getting stitched back together.” On the floor, in my kitchen.
The weapon hung limp in his hand for a full thirty seconds before he put it away and shoved past Santiago to inspect Miller. His eyes rounded then bounced back to me. “What kind of accident?”
“The kind that’s none of your business,” Santiago informed him. “If we wanted the cops involved, we would have called them.”
“Luce is a cop.” Rixton stabbed the air in my direction. “Therefore, cops are involved.”
“Luce isn’t a cop,” he snarled. “She’s —”
“She’s a friend,” Thom finished for him. “She didn’t render aid in any official capacity.”
“I need to speak to my partner.” Rixton started walking toward the porch. “Alone.”
On my way past, I ruffled Thom’s hair. The bruised skin under his eyes spoke to the long night he’d spent watching over Miller. Briefly I wondered if I’d looked that dead on my feet last night. “I’ll be right back.”
Rixton’s mood failed to improve when exposed to fresh air. “What’s going on in there?”
Lord knows I had earned his suspicion, but God it hurt when he directed it at me, considering I had never given him cause to doubt me until now. But what good would an apology do if he offered me one? None. The worst was yet to come.