“That’s a pretty deadly combination. Even if it didn’t kill the guy, it would have knocked him down long enough for Beanie Boy to do his work. That could have been his first kill. Or, hell, even second or third.” Looking over Kane’s arm, Kel skimmed the report. “If our boy still lived in the neighborhood while Vega was grooming his fosters, then he’d have seen them. Hell, he might have even kept in touch with them after they split, so he might have known Zhang, knew he was still in the neighborhood.”
“Someone like that would probably have a record. Petty stuff or even animal cruelty. Some place he started off before working up to something like Zhang or Vega. There’s got to be a trail. We’re just not seeing it,” Kane said. “Let’s finish up here and see if we can’t shake him out of the trees.”
“Sounds good,” Kel said, grinning wickedly. “You know, Morgan, the more I think about it, the more I like your fire-ant idea. Let’s go rattle those trees.”
MIKI woke up to pain.
It wasn’t a bad pain. He actually felt pretty decent, if not slightly rumpled, but his hips ached, and there was a tenderness to his insides when he moved across the bed. A hot shower helped, especially after he scrubbed at his hair. His knee made its presence known with a subtle twinge as he walked, but for the most part, other than the complaining stretch of his thigh muscles, he was doing okay.
The same couldn’t be said of his kiss-swollen mouth or the prickle-rash from Kane’s stubble covering the line of love bites his cop left on his throat.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you couldn’t have eaten before you crawled into bed with me?” Miki rubbed at the tiny purple blossoms on his neck. His stomach grumbled at the mention of food, and Miki sighed. “Okay, man up here, dude. You can face them. Just go raid the fridge and then go hide or something.”
He’d thrown his most comfortable clothes into the duffel bag, and as he pulled out a pair of worn-through jeans, Miki wondered if he shouldn’t have dug out newer pants from the boxes in his bedroom. Shrugging on a pair with the least amount of holes, he found a black Se7en shirt to put on and walked barefoot into the fires of his own personal hell.
Only to discover hell was very sparsely populated.
In fact, the only occupants appeared to the one-headed Cerberus he’d brought with him and a slab of Irish slate masquerading as a man.
He came through the mudroom as cautiously as he could, keeping an eye out for any stray Morgans lurking in the shadows. Dude barked a happy hello when he spotted Miki coming into the well-lived-in family room, and the terrier bounded over, wagging his tail hard enough to wiggle his entire back end. Bending over, Miki hissed a bit at the tightness in his ass but scruffed at the dog’s neck and ears, trying to avoid Dude’s nose-seeking tongue.
“Hello, ye must be Miki.” A tree trunk dressed in loose denim and a T-shirt sprouted next to Miki’s arm, and he looked up, craning his neck to take in the enormity of the man holding his hand out to him. “I’m Donal, Kane’s da.”
“Hey, how’re you doing?” Unsure of what else to do, Miki accepted the handshake and swallowed when he lost his hand in the man’s gentle grip. Standing, he stealthily eased Dude behind him with his foot, dislodging the terrier from his round-the-leg dance. “Um, thanks for taking us in. Sorry about the dog. He’s an asshole sometimes. Shit, sorry.”
“Not a problem. Our house is always yours. And don’t worry about swearing around me. I’ve probably done worse than anything ye can say,” Donal replied, nodding to the open back door. “Hope ye don’t mind, Duke seems to like having the run of the yard.”
“Ah, Dude. His name’s Dude.” Miki took a step back when Donal’s frown sketched over his face. “Sometimes he even comes when you call him.”
“Remind me to talk to Brae about his hearing, then. Boy told me the wrong name.” The man let go an earthshaking chuckle. “Ye must be hungry. Come on to the kitchen, and I’ll get some food in ye. Won’t be anything gourmet, but I can turn a burger out with the best of them.”
Donal Morgan had more than a head on him, and the man was about half again as wide, but he was welcoming, with a warm smile and eyes as blue as Kane’s, crinkling at the corners when he laughed. A dash of silver glinted in his thick blue-black hair, and a shock of soft strands fell over his forehead and brushed at the bridge of his straight nose. Donal’s work-worn hands moved as he spoke to Miki about his choices for lunch, the broad gold wedding ring on his finger burnished and nicked from years of wear. From behind, Donal looked as fit as his sons, his powerful frame moving easily under his loose jeans and T-shirt, and Miki felt more than a little weird thinking about how Kane’s shoulders compared to his dad’s.
“Hope Dude’s been good.” Miki glanced down at his begging mutt. “He’s not… um… civilized. Kind of takes after me, I think.”