Darker Than Any Shadow

Chapter Thirty-three

I had to use the shop’s hand truck to do it, but I managed to get all my research—including Lex’s box of poetry scraps—into Trey’s lobby in one trip. The concierge paled when he saw me coming. I raised my Frankie Styles mug at him, and he stared in soft baffled horror until the elevator doors closed.

It was Wednesday, which meant Trey had been at Krav class since five-thirty. Add thirty minutes for a post-class run, another fifteen for a shower, and he’d been ready to go since seven-fifteen.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open. “I know I’m late, but you’re not going to believe—”

Gabriella jumped, startled. Then she smiled really big. “Tai!”

Trey’s ex. She always acted ridiculously glad to see me. Tonight she was dressed in her spa uniform—white cotton yoga pants and a white baby tee, her red ringlets piled on top of her head. She was barefoot and carried a designer yoga bag on her shoulder. Probably something expensive and French and high maintenance, like her.

I managed something like a smile in return. “Hi.”

Trey sat in a kitchen chair in front of her. He wore sweatpants, but his chest and back were as bare as a romance novel cover. I tamped down a surge of primal female possessiveness.

Gabriella made a stern face at Trey. “You keep using the balm, plus ice, at least fifteen minutes more before you go to bed. It’ll feel better soon.”

Trey nodded. He stood and pulled a tee-shirt over his head. As he tugged it on, I noticed a scratch on the back of his neck, and the memory of how it had gotten there rocketed blood into my cheeks.

As Gabriella passed, she leaned her head close to mine, her voice a girl-to-girl whisper. “Take it easy on him for a while, okay? He’s not operating at full capacity right now.”

She smiled. Then she left, humming some French ditty under her breath, trailing the smell of herbs behind her. I was very happy when the door clicked shut with her on the other side.

I went to Trey. “What happened?”

“I pulled my trapezius.”

“How?”

“A student lost her balance. I tried to catch her.”

The feminine pronoun didn’t surprise me. I’d seen these women at the gym. They were his students and classmates, random females with questions about bicep curls. They dressed in spandex tights and crop tops, smiling at him, playing with their hair.

“Women trip a lot around you. They also drop things and bend over to pick them up. A lot.”

He cocked his head, noting my sarcastic tone and stern expression. He seemed to be trying to sort out a response, but not finding his way to it. I helped him.

“So your ex-girlfriend dropped by for a little Florence Nightingale action?”

“She brought this. Arnica and capsaicin.” He held up a tiny white jar. “And she’s not my ex-girlfriend.”

“Ex-person you were sleeping with.”

He didn’t correct me. “I called her for advice. She brought balm.”

And she’d kindly applied it to, I thought, then felt another wave of possessiveness. I knew he still consulted her for the occasional sprained this or disjointed that. As a trained massage therapist and herbalist, she was the one who’d helped him drag his broken body out of the hospital and into full function again. She knew how to unknit knotted muscle, break loose scar tissue, stretch out kinks. Trey had enough metal in his body to be almost bionic, and yet in the end, he was flesh and blood, sinew and bone. He needed maintenance that I couldn’t provide.

I suppressed the urge to pick a fight. Instead I threw my bag in the corner and examined him. Up close, I could see the glaze of pain in his eyes.

“How’s the scraped hand?”

“Better.” He held it up so that I could see. “What were you saying when you came in the door?”

“Oh.” I wheeled the hand truck over and unloaded the first layer of materials onto the coffee table. “I think I found Lex. And by that I mean Kyle. And by that I mean…take a look.”

***

Thirty minutes later, he’d established that my conclusion was sound, logical, and evidence-based, which surprised both of us. Too bad none of that brought us one step closer to finding out who killed Lex. Or Debbie.

Trey cocked his head. “What did you call it again?”

“Corporate magic. You know, magic shows for business retreats. Guy pulls a bouquet of flowers out of the CEO’s pants, everybody laughs, and then suddenly the whole staff starts cooperating and company profits go up. That’s the theory anyway.”

“Have you told Cummings?”

“He knows everything, don’t worry. I’m entirely on the up and up. Now that they’ve got the van, though, they’ve already started putting together the same picture, I’m sure.” I stood up. “Come on. We’ve got ten minutes to get to Java Java before the open mike starts. Rico’s hosting.”

“About that,” Trey said.

I sighed. I should have known. We were about to be late, and he wasn’t even dressed in leaving-the-apartment clothes.

“You’re not going, are you?”

“I’m not going.”

“Are you hurt that bad?”

“No.”

I put my hand to his forehead. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He sat on the sofa. His eyes were tight, and not only from exhaustion and pain. There was something else in there, something on the verge.

“What’s wrong?”

He kept his face averted, arms folded. “My reaction time is off. I should have been able to catch a student without hurting myself.”

I sat beside him on the sofa, and he stiffened. I felt the wall coming up between us, brick by brick. “Is this about last night?”

“Last night?”

“You know. How you were angry and then suddenly you…weren’t.”

“You weren’t angry either. Suddenly.”

I took his point. “I want to make sure you’re not avoiding me because of that.”

“Because of what?”

“Because you’re still angry.”

He shook his head. “I’m not angry, I’m tired. I need sleep. I need…I can’t think of the word.”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean.”

And I did. He needed four walls, a door that double-locked, window shades that pulled. And quiet. He needed that most of all.

He kept his eyes on the floor. “Garrity will be there tonight. He says you won’t be allowed to take your gun. Pepper spray will be okay, however. You have that, right?” He checked his watch without waiting for an answer. “You’re going to be late.”

“So will every poet. Don’t worry.”

I reached over and rubbed my thumb between his eyebrows, softening the tightness there. He closed his eyes and let me do it, and I sensed the first hint of give in him.

“Trey?”

“Yes?”

“You’re sure this isn’t about last night?”

He opened his eyes. “I’m sure. Except that…”

“Except what?”

He hesitated. “It’s not just snakes.”

“It’s not?”

“No. There’s something else.”

Uh oh. “Something else like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“What letter does it begin with?”

He shook his head. “That’s not the problem. It’s bigger than a word.” He stretched his arm and rubbed at his shoulder. “Go on. You’ll miss Rico’s performance.”

“I can’t leave you like this.”

“Like what?”

“All…” I waved my hands around. “Damn, now I can’t think of the word.”

“I’m fine. That’s all there is to tell.”

I waited, but he didn’t continue. I stood. He remained on the sofa, still tired and hurt, but looser, not so rigid. My jumbled research spread on his coffee table like a multi-colored stain. Photographs, files, printouts, scribblings, bubble maps, Lex’s black-lacquered trick box.

He peered at the mess. “About this…”

“Sorry. I’ll put it back.”

“No, no. I mean, do you need some help with it?”

I stirred the chaos with one finger. His eyes roamed the tabletop, already cataloging and sorting. Sharpening. Nothing like a little not-unsexy drudge work to get him back on track.

I smiled and kissed him. “Knock yourself out, boyfriend. And don’t wait up.”