Not until we were past the little man and almost to the door did I speak. “Lil, Where's Bri? Vic said—”
Lil's lips tightened. “Not here. Vic's in the car waiting.”
“But is he okay? Did Carl... Oh, shit, Lil, what happened?” I could tell by the way the colour touched his cheeks only in high, bright spots that it was taking everything he had to keep his emotions in check. I hadn't seen him this close to losing it in a very long time. And he didn't answer me. Because he blamed me? I'd brought Carl into their lives. Lil had been adamant on keeping him out of their home. Had he gone there looking for me? Did he even know where I was? Did he care?
We didn't talk any more on the way down the front steps or across the lot to the car. He kept a hand on me, though, and it was unexpectedly comforting.
“Here we go.” He latched onto the car door handle, and I blinked. I'd lost a few minutes of time. It seemed I had been sitting at Sanders’ desk, then we were at the door, out, and now Lil was handing me into the car. “Belt up, sugar.”
I reached for the buckle and winced. So much of me hurt I'd forgotten about my chafed wrists. They'd stiffened up in the cold, and I inadvertently rubbed the damaged, and now poorly bandaged skin against my jeans.
“Ah!”
“All right.” Lil's voice was so soft in my ear as he reached over me to buckle my belt, I didn't instinctively flinch this time. He didn't get to do the belt up, however. The buckle clicked into place before he touched it, and I glanced over to Vic, sitting in the driver's seat.
“Thanks.” I couldn't look away from his dark eyes.
He just sat stiffly behind the wheel, watching me.
“Alright.” Lil's usual vigor came out flat.
Vic leaned forward a bit and thanked Lil. “You'll meet us at mine, yeah?”
Lil nodded, even as his jaw set and his eyes flashed. I recognized the look of secretive, stubborn will I'd seen so often in him.
“Lil, follow me.” Vic's voice turned stern. “Brian's safe where he is, and I want you safe too.”
“I should be with him.” All that stubborn defiance bled away, and Lil looked suddenly so forlorn.
What had I done? How had I got him mixed up in this shit just when he was back on track, healthy, happy?
“There's nothing you can do for him by going there alone except put yourself at risk. You know how he feels about this. He has protection.”
Lil's lips tightened again, to a puckered white wrinkly crease. He gave a curt nod and pulled back, closing the door behind him.
The car was silent for a long minute as Vic waited for Lil to get into his own vehicle and pull around to wait for Vic to lead the way.
“Vic?”
“Never would have made you for a purple leopard-print man.”
“I was cold,” I mumbled and scrunched deeper into the synthetic fur. The lights from Lil's car swung round to illuminate the interior. I got a good look at Vic's face. He looked tired; his big brown eyes held worry as he gazed at me. “Warm now,” I assured him. Lil had taken care of me, and it finally sank in what a good thing Brian had.
“Good.” He gave a satisfied nod and turned the key in the ignition.
“He is,” I said abruptly. “Brian's a lucky man to have him.”
Vic nodded. “They're lucky to have each other. Brian went through a lot to stay by his side.”
“A lot of flak from me, you mean.”
Vic smiled grimly. “From everyone who cared about him, I would imagine. Brian just has that kind of heart, to take it all and still stand by his man.”
“What did Carl do to him, Vic?” At least he was talking about him in the present tense, so my original fears were probably unfounded. “Did he hurt him?”
Vic nodded carefully, stiff, as though the admission would somehow break him.
“Is he okay?
Again, he nodded. He wouldn't open his mouth after that, though, concentrating on the drive, on weaving in and out of the waning rush-hour traffic. Behind us Lil followed dutifully, and a few minutes later, both cars pulled into a small lot outside a four-apartment brick building. Vic got out and led us up the front steps into the hallway and to the number four door at the back, top of the building.
Inside, the place reflected just the same image of Vic I'd come to expect. Spare, strong, simple. Everything of the best quality, but on a cop's salary, not much of it. A leather sofa and a glass coffee table fronted a large-screen TV hanging on the brick wall. To the left was a dark wood table and two high-backed chairs. There was a tidy arrangement of three lilies in a clear glass vase on the table, which took me by surprise, but somehow seemed fitting. In the kitchen, on the right, the concrete counter held an espresso maker and a small microwave. Down the short hall, the door to what I assumed was his bedroom was closed.
It was a stark contrast to my own messy, ad-hoc place, and reflected completely different taste to Lil's flamboyant decorating strategies. It felt like the home of a man who craved sanctuary. I wondered if he often let anyone up here. I rather expected he didn't.
“Make yourselves at home.” He tossed his keys into a dish on a shelf by the door and set his cell beside it. He took Lil's coat from me, then removed his own.
I don't know why the sight of his gun and holster was a shock. The contrast against his white T-shirt sent a shiver down my spine, though, and I found myself moving a few feet in the opposite direction. He slipped it off, hung the holster in the hall closet next to the coats, and tucked the gun away in a drawer.
“You have a first aid kit?” Lil asked, his soft voice startling me more than it should have. “Some jerk cuffed an innocent man and exacerbated his injuries.”
“Lil.” I automatically stepped up to defend Vic. “He was doing his job.”
“It's okay, Paul.” Vic sounded so tired.
I suddenly wondered just exactly what he'd had to go through in the hours I was holed up in that cell. “No, it isn't.” My heart pounded, sending heat and jitters through my body. “None of this is okay. Lil.”
“You going to step up and take responsibility for this mess?” Lil moved close, towering over me.
I couldn't tell what he was thinking or how much of it was directed at me. “I'm sorry. It's my fault—”
“Like hell.” His big hand descended onto my shoulder, and I flinched. Something—anger? Disgust?—flickered in his eyes, his lips tightened, but his hand remained gentle. “Carl is a fucked-up shit. You aren't responsible for anything he does.”
“I brought him into your life.”
Lil barked out a little laugh. “After everything I've put people through, you don't think I deserve a little payback?”
“No.” Not like this. I remembered Simpson's words. You don't sleep with shit like that and not get tainted with the stink. Well, maybe those hadn't been his exact words, but the sentiment was accurate. “You've put up with my nasty remarks and bad attitude longer than you should have had to.” I sighed. “I can be a jerk. And Carl didn't exactly bring out the best in me.” I met his eye, squared my shoulders. “I'm sorry. For everything. Not just Carl. For how I treated you.”
Lil shook his head. “Honey, you think I don't know why you needed to try and protect him? Brian always said you weren't really like that. I had to believe him. You stuck by him. If it had been about me, about this,” he waved a hand over himself, “you'd have buggered off, and you didn't. So.” He let out a little huff, blinked, and shook his lanky frame. “First aid. Come on.” He took my arm and firmly led me off toward the hallway.
The man had presence, and he knew when to use it. I followed, relieved enough that here, at least, were people who only wanted to help, that I didn't mind the way he ordered me about. From what I'd seen of his relationship with Brian, he was used to being obeyed, and I had no reserves left anyway.
Vic came after us, directing us into the bathroom and handing over the first aid kit. He didn't stick around, and Lil worked in comforting silence. The process of getting the old, b
loodied bandages off and new ones applied left me giddy and light headed. Finally, he finished and I sat on the edge of the tub trying to find the energy to move. A minute later, it was Vic who came in to fetch me.
“All right?” He lowered himself onto the closed toilet seat and peered at me. Every movement was stiff, as though he was barely managing to hold himself together and upright.
“No.” It was completely irrational to want to throw myself into his arms and hope it all went away. I wasn't sure I could deal with any of it.
He nodded. “I made soup if you're up to it.”
I gazed at the new bandages around my wrists. Lil had washed away the old blood, cleaned me elbows to fingertips. It was the only part of me that didn't feel dirty and tainted.
Again, Vic nodded. “Bath first. Then food, then sleep.”
I lifted my gaze to him. “You a mind reader?”
His smile, even shining through his own strain, made my breath catch. He reached out and cradled the side of my face with one hand. I vaguely wondered what his dark skin would look like against my paler, freckled cheek. “No.” His thumb moved gently, and my lids fluttered involuntarily. “Just not completely oblivious.” His thumb continued lower, over my lips, and I didn't resist the urge to turn my head into his touch.
I needed to ask him questions. About Brian. About how he knew so much about me. I should have been more careful. I didn't know a thing about him, and he seemed to know everything about me. That wasn't normal. But then, what about my life was? He offered comfort, and what felt like safety. Lil trusted him enough to listen to him, and Lil didn't listen to anyone.
“Okay.” His hand moved, caressed along the back of my neck, and I realized my eyes had drifted closed. “Don't fall asleep in the tub.” I jerked upright as he reached across me, turned on the faucet, and set the plug. “I'll fetch clean clothes. Be right back.”
I stood as he moved to the door. “Vic.”
He turned back.
“Thank you.”
After a slight pause, he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “For what? Believing your boyfriend is a mass murderer? Stalking you? Arresting you?” He snickered, but it was just a tired, defeated sound.
“For whatever it is that makes me trust you anyway.”
He nodded, and as I watched, some of the strain fell away. His eyes unshuttered. There was so much in there I didn't understand, but nothing to fear. “I'm through letting him hurt the people I care about, Paul. Job be damned. You're more important than a badge.”
“You don't even know me.”
He smiled, a kind of expression aimed almost mockingly at himself. “But I want to.” He opened the door, stepped out, but looked back at me from the other side. “You okay with that?”
I think my grin came off crooked and a little idiotic. I could blame it on too little sleep, no food, on light-headed loopiness and the complete chaos that had become my life. Or not. “I'm okay with that, yeah.”
When I emerged from the bath almost an hour later, Lil sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of cooling instant soup in front of him. He was glaring up at Vic.
“What's going on?” I glanced between the two of them.
Vic stood with his hands on his hips, his angry expression a mask for something deeper. I could still see that look in his eyes, too close to panic. He didn't like being out of control, and Lil was not someone who would stand for being controlled.
I backed off a step or two.
“No.” Vic frowned more deeply, crossed his arms in front of himself, and refused to let Lil look away.
“What, I'm a prisoner now?”
“No. Just...” Vic sighed and slumped into the chair opposite him, deflated. “Why take the chance? For what? Pantyhose and pumps?”
“Don't mock.” Lil's fingers tightened into fists, hiding his perfect manicure.
Another sigh. “I'm not mocking.” He reached over and patted Lil's hand, then got up again and headed to the stove. “I just don't think it's a good idea. In fact, I think you should just call in tomorrow and stay here. Where you're safe.”
“Vic.” Lil rolled his eyes. “I'm a big boy.”
Vic returned, plonked another bowl of soup on the table opposite Lil, and leaned over him. “Tell me Brian didn't say that exact thing when you left for work last night.”
Lil snarled at him. “I don't need you to babysit me.”
Vic straightened, arms crossed over his chest again and feet spread, exactly like I remember my father doing back before he fell apart, when he was trying to look stern.
“Him, on the other hand...” Lil continued, waving a hand in my direction. “He needs a good grounding. Keep him out of jail.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Asshole.” I plopped into the seat where Vic had set the soup.
“Pantywaist.” Lil picked up his spoon and delicately sipped his soup.
Vic burst out laughing.
We both watched him for a minute. The aggression drained away with some of the tension from Vic's shoulders. His stance eased, and he rubbed a hand over his face.
“Humor an old alpha dog, would you, Lil? At least let me take you over there. You can pick up what you need, and I'll bring you back here.”
Lil rolled his eyes again, but he nodded. “Fine.”
That's when Vic's cell rang. He took the call and wandered off toward the kitchen again. I couldn't hear everything. I did hear a name and a lot of cursing from Vic.
“Kevin.” I set my spoon down without having touched my soup. I knew I had to be pale. The room spun a bit. Kevin. That had been the name Vic muttered into his phone, as though trying to place it. I didn't have trouble.
“Who's Kevin?” Lil reached across the table to touch my hand.
I pulled it back into my lap. “Carl's father's name is Kevin.”
From across the room, I could feel Vic's gaze on me. “Lil, I've called in a uniform to meet us at your place. I have to go in to the station. He'll bring you back here.”
When Lil started to protest, Vic shook his head sharply. “Please, Lil.” Vic was staring at me, and I saw the rest of his request in his eyes. He didn't have to say it out loud.
“He doesn't want to leave me alone, Lil.” A few days ago, that much over-protectiveness would have made me crazy. Now, I met Lil's gaze and only just managed not to ask him to stay and to hell with his pantyhose.
Vic's next, quiet statement set my gut churning. “Carl's back in action. He's killed his father. Probably on his way back into town. I have to go.”
He didn't say I have to find him, but it was all over his face. God, I hoped he found Carl before Carl found him.
“There's just no end to this bloody nightmare,” Lil whispered.
I started shivering again.
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter Eleven
* * * *
Carl sat outside Paul's place, fingertips drumming the centre of the steering wheel. He'd driven from Greg's and arrived back in town, safe under cover of darkness. For a while he'd watched. Young people occupied those homes, and any one of them could come back from a night of clubbing and spot him. An hour passed, him seeing no one, so he slipped out of the pickup and entered the building. The silence inside cloaked Carl, and his footsteps echoed, giving the feeling he was the only person on the planet. Unnerved by that thought, he slid the key into the lock on Paul's front door and stepped inside. If Paul was home it meant someone else had posted bail—probably that fucking Brian or Lil—but if he wasn't... Then my plans haven't been fucked up.
He searched the rooms, pleased at finding them all empty. In a bold move, but unable to stand not knowing for sure, he used the landline to call the police station. Disguising his voice, he enquired whether Paul was in residence there.
“Who's calling, please?” a bored-sounding desk jockey asked.
“A friend.”
“And your name is?”
“Listen, is Paul Miller there or not?”
> “Hold the line, please.”
Shit.
Carl gripped the receiver then slammed it back into the cradle, the sudden thought of line tracing sending dread through him. How long had that line been open? Wasn't it thirty seconds before they could get a trace? He laughed at his stupidity. Paul's home number would have been logged right away.
Fuck!
He left the apartment, taking the stairs in a mad rush and skidding on each landing. Outside, he scanned the area, running across the grass to the pickup, head down, heart beating way too fast. Once in the driver's seat, he gunned the engine and pulled away, his destination the police station. Crazy, fucking crazy going there after that call, but he had to know. A part of him admitted something was off. Why wouldn't that cop just tell him whether Paul was there? All right, he'd probably been hauled in on a murder charge—or two—but Christ, a simple yes or no wasn't too much to ask, was it?
At a red light he scrubbed his palm over his chin. Wouldn't be long before he had a full-on beard—and that wasn't a bad thing. A sense of shit having gone down gripped him, like he knew for a fact things hadn't panned out as he'd hoped. That he was being hunted. He chuckled, wondering if he knew this due to a higher calling letting him know.
Behave your fucking self. This is you, not some otherworldly entity orchestrating things. Probably instinct. Yeah, I can go with that.
At the police station, he reversed into a parking space in a line of vehicles outside. Five uniformed officers stood on the steps on a smoke break, their exhalations joining as one cloud above their heads before vanishing. A suited guy came out to join them, striking a match on a bright yellow box and lighting a cigarette.
Detective. Gotta be.
How could Carl find out what the hell was going on? He smiled as a thought snaked into his mind. Could he do it and get away with it? Nodding and adjusting his cap, he got out of the car and headed toward the cops, who looked up as he neared.
“Can y'all help me?” he drawled. “I heard my brother's in there. Think he might need bail postin'.” He smiled, lips closed, keeping his eyes narrowed. “Got a call from our mama tellin’ me to get my ass down here and haul that sucker out! Damn fool. Told him time and again not to steal no shit.”
Fight Page 10