Author's Note: Yes, Wufei is going to backslide. But there is a reason. And we're close to finding it out, I promise.
Witness Protection Part 22
Wrong Numbers
It might have been the fact that we hadn't had real food in days, but the meal Maxwell made was nothing short of spectacular. It was simply spaghetti, sauce, and canned vegetables--but it tasted like ambrosia to two half-starved detectives. I don't know what he'd added, or how he found the right ingredients in the pantry, but he'd managed to put together something I'd have paid top dollar for in any restaurant.
To say I was impressed would be an understatement. And Wufei was even more flabbergasted than I was.
"Okay Maxwell--how the hell did you learn to cook like this?" my partner demanded over his second helping of food.
"Like I told your partner, Zechs taught me," Maxwell explained, twirling his fork in the spaghetti. "Before that I pretty much would've thought oregano was some exotic new drug on the street."
"And what else did you put in this?" Chang persisted.
"Some dried basil, thyme, rosemary..." Maxwell shrugged. "Quat's sister keeps a well-stocked spice rack."
Chang just shook his head, giving me a disbelieving look. "Who would have thought?"
I grunted a noncommittal response, since my mouth was full.
After the meal, Wufei insisted upon providing Maxwell with the foot soak he'd talked about, and I went off to take a shower.
It was almost as enjoyable standing beneath the spray of hot water as it had been eating a home cooked meal, and by the time I finished, I felt almost human again.
My leg, amazingly, didn't seem to be infected, though the wound was tender and the skin a bit irritated. But once I put ointment and a fresh bandage on, it felt a million times better.
When I got back downstairs, Maxwell was fidgeting, with his feet in a basin of water and leafy greens, while my partner finished up the dishes, having insisted that the chef was never supposed to have to participate in the cleanup.
"Ah, my turn in the shower!" Maxwell piped up happily, lifting his feet out of the soak, and drying them on a towel Chang had laid next to it. "Hey, Wuffers--thanks for making 'foot tea' for me. They do feel better."
"As I knew they would," came the complacent reply. "You'll find some aloe lotion in the medicine cabinet upstairs. I suggest you use it."
"Yes mother," quipped our witness, brushing past me and heading for the stairs. But he paused at the bottom step. "You smell good," he said with an appreciative sniff, giving me a sly glance.
I felt immediate heat on my face, but I wasn't about to let him get away with the last word this time. "So do you," I said with a grin of my own. "Like spaghetti sauce."
He looked down at his shirt, which sure enough had a small spatter of red on it, and then he looked back at me a bit sheepishly.
And before he could get off a snide comment, I let my gaze roam up and down his body. "Good enough to eat," I added, before turning to head for the kitchen.
I dared a glance back as I left the room, and saw him staring after me with his mouth open and a definite blush on his cheeks.
Yes! I finally flustered him back for all the times he'd flustered me. And I felt pretty good about that.
"Yuy--time to check in with Po?" asked Wufei, hanging up a dishtowel and turning away from the draining sink.
"We're already a bit late," I admitted. "She'll probably be frantic."
"Let her be," he suggested, giving me a conspiratorial smirk. "She put us on this godforsaken assignment knowing it'd be pure hell. She deserves to suffer, too."
I tried not to smile in return, but he had a point. We'd endured Maxwell's outrageous personality, horrible roadside food, and long, grueling hours in a cramped car. Then we'd been sleep-deprived, shot at, chased, and nearly eaten by bears. Maybe our Captain did deserve a little payback.
"Much as I want her to feel our pain," I said wearily, "I also want to get some sleep. And after we've checked in with her, I think we can afford to rest."
"I found a washer and dryer in the basement--I can throw some of our dirty clothes in while you make the call."
The sound of loud music pierced the quiet serenity of the house, and I groaned. "Where'd he find audio equipment?"
"Are you kidding? Every room has its own sound system," Wufei told me. "They must be music buffs or something. There's a collection of classical, opera, jazz, soft rock..." He cocked his head, grimacing slightly. "Then there's the shit Maxwell brought with him."
"Sonofa--" I shook my head, gathering up the cell phone and booster and heading for the deck on the back of the house. "I guess I'll have to go outside for a little peace and quiet."
Chang rolled his eyes. "I'll go yell at the little fool."
"No," I sighed. "Let him have it. He did make supper."
"And how!" My partner shook his head in bewilderment. "I just can't figure it out, Yuy. Why would Zechs take the time to teach Maxwell to cook? I mean, he was a goddamned drug lord--he could've hired the finest chef in the world. Why teach a street rat how to put together a gourmet meal?"
"Maybe he really did care?" I hazarded, hesitating to use the word "love." But it was pretty apparent there'd been more to Maxwell and Merquise than a self-indulgent crime boss dallying with a stripper just for the fun of it.
Wufei snorted skeptically. "Merquise? Next you'll be suggesting he wasn't such a bad guy--for a drug-dealing, money-laundering crook, that is."
"Never," I assured my partner, heading for the deck as the sound system upstairs started playing the same song I'd heard at The Jungle when Barton had been on stage. That was all I needed--the image of Maxwell and Barton performing together to the very sexual lyrics of that particular song.
You let me violate you...you let me desecrate you...you let me penetrate you...
I fled to the deck with the haunting words setting my face on fire--not to mention my groin--as I was reminded of what I'd done to Maxwell back at the log house. At this rate I'd end up needing a cold shower to follow the hot one I'd so recently enjoyed.
When I got outside, I focused on setting up the equipment on an umbrella table near the hot tub, letting the tedious task help clear my mind. As I finished, I found my gaze drawn to the moonlit lake and listened once again for the loon's call. But the only sound was the muffled, throbbing beat of the music coming from inside the cottage.
Out of habit, I glanced up at the windows, and frowned when I realized the shade on the bathroom had been raised. I'd have to talk to Maxwell about security again. He was so smart when it came to some subjects, and totally clueless on others.
Of course, even as I made a mental note to speak to him, I saw him pass by the window, shirtless (and of course probably naked, except that I couldn't see below the waist) and with his hair loose as he finger-combed it.
God, he was fucking gorgeous. Yeah, I'd said that before, and would no doubt say it again. And honestly, I'd never tried to deny the obvious. When he paused to look out across the lake, not noticing me in the shadows, I could have stared at him all night.
As compelling as he was, I had to tear my eyes away, and force myself to focus on the task at hand. And that wasn't an easy thing to do.
But before I could dial Captain Po's phone number, Wufei threw open the door and walked quickly out onto the deck, his face noticeably pale.
"What?" I asked quickly, looking around for a cause for his alarm.
He waved a shirt at me, his hand actually shaking a bit. "I took the wet clothes--to put them in the wash."
"And--?" What the hell was so unnerving about laundry for God's sake?
"Look!" he blurted, shoving the shirt into my hands.
I held it up, shaking the damp, wrinkled fabric slightly. "It's a shirt, Chang. What's the big deal?"
He reached out and stuck his finger through a hole in the fabric. "That's the big deal!"
I looked again, realizing the hole was in the left side, just under the sleeve. "Is that--a bullet hole?"
He nodded. "Two actually. There's a second right along the seam."
"Jesus, Chang!" I blurted in horror. "Do you know how close you came?"
"I'm well aware of it," he said a bit hoarsely.
"A couple of inches to the left and it would have been a killing shot."
"I know."
"And you just realized it now?"
"In all the excitement, I never noticed."
I looked at it again, swallowing against a sudden dryness in my throat. "The important thing is, they missed," I said, trying for a reassuring tone. "Barely," I added weakly.
He gave a wan smile, which faded almost before it began. "Tell Po I want a pay increase."
While I was glad Wufei could keep a sense of humor about this, I wasn't sure I could.
I ran a hand over my face, thinking of shootouts, car chases, cross-country hikes and bears. Was Khushrenada really worth all this?
Was Duo?
I looked towards the window again, trying not to picture Maxwell in the shower--trying not to picture him in the kitchen, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he sucked sauce off my finger.
No matter what he'd been or done, he didn't deserve what Khushrenada's people wanted to do to him. He was so full of life...
I shoved the shirt back into Chang's hands. "Don't show that to Maxwell. He doesn't need any more stress right now. He's just beginning to settle down."
"Agreed," said my partner, regaining some of his composure. "I just--it took me by surprise--and it shouldn't have. I know how good they were, and how close we came."
"Let's just hope that's the last we see of Khushrenada's hit men," I said firmly. "We've got a good position here. If we can just keep it from leaking..."
"Tell Po that," Chang said sharply. "Make sure she understands we don't want another incident."
"Oh, I will. Right after I request our pay raises."
Wufei leaned against the wall to listen in as I dialed the office.
The sound of Captain Po's voice answering her private number was a welcome sound indeed.
"Goddamnit, Yuy! You're late!"
"Yes sir. Sorry sir," I sighed. "We had some delays, but have reached a secure location."
"And about time. Is everyone okay?"
"More or less. Chang wants a pay increase--and frankly, after having my laptop shot up and finding two bullet holes in the last shirt he was wearing, so do I."
"What? Bullet--?" There was an exasperated sigh on the other end. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her tone a bit softer--less professional.
"As okay as we can be with people wanting to kill us," I said a bit curtly. "I'd like to get this over with, though. Do you have any news on the case?"
"Yes, but not that I can share over a cell phone frequency." There was a moment's pause. "You could probably learn as much from watching the news as I can tell you right now."
"I wish I had internet access. We could set up something more secure--encrypted."
"Perhaps you can procure another laptop somewhere."
"I'll try." I watched the moonlight reflecting off the smooth surface of the lake, grateful for the serenity. "Any word on how our previous location got compromised? I'd like very much to avoid a repeat performance."
Captain Po made a frustrated noise. "Yes and no. There was a call from the Sanc Palace to Khushrenada's office number that night."
"So?"
"It came directly after an incoming call from a town not far from your last location."
I felt my stomach lurch uneasily. "What town?"
"Northfield."
Fuck, fuck, fuck! So Maxwell's little outing did, indeed, get him spotted. I should kick his ass for that.
Wait a sec...
Another thought had occurred to me, and made my train of thought instantly derail. "They called Sanc? But--that makes no sense. Even if someone recognized him, they'd have called Khushrenada, not Sanc." And then it all fell into place. "Oh shit." An image flashed through my head of the phone booth in front of Hell's Bells.
Chang was giving me a quizzical look, trying to follow the one-sided conversation.
"What?" came Po's suspicious reply. "You know something."
"I'm afraid I do," I said, looking up at the bathroom window yet again. "I'll get back to you after I beat some information out of him."
"Now Yuy--don't do anything hasty."
"Hasty?" I asked, clenching my fist so hard on the phone it's a wonder it didn't break. "The little shit nearly got us killed!
"You think Ma--er, your companion--made the call?"
"The little fucker used to work there, remember?" I was trembling with anger by that time, livid over the fact that Maxwell had broken yet another life-saving rule. "Do you know who received the call?"
"No. The bartender said there were enough personal calls that night that he doesn't remember who got them or when they came in. Look, it's water under the bridge at this point--"
"It's blatant disregard for the safety protocols we'd put into place prior to the incident! Look, Captain, I have to go. I want to know who he called and what he told them. For all we know our present location could be at risk because of his big mouth."
"Do what you have to," sighed my Captain. "But whatever you do, don't impair his ability to talk when we need him." Her vaguely humorous farewell did nothing to ease my fury.
"Yuy out." I tossed the phone onto the patio table and stalked purposefully inside.
"Yuy?" Wufei hurried after me, catching my arm.
"Let go, Chang. I'm going upstairs to kill Maxwell," I snarled, yanking my arm free.
He matched me stride for stride as I headed for the stairs. "Did I hear you right, out there? Maxwell made a phone call? From where?"
"From outside the goddamned bar where he went clubbing!" I growled, storming up the stairs.
"He called the Sanc Palace?" At my curt nod, Wufei's face went bleak and the hand clenched in his bullet-riddled shirt tightened convulsively. "How dare he?"
"After slipping out a window and stealing a motorcycle, do you really think he'd hesitate at using a pay phone?" I pounded loudly on the half-open door. "Maxwell! Get your ass out here!"
I heard a muffled exclamation, the music quieted, and then the door was pulled open. Maxwell stood there in jeans, his hair wrapped up in a towel and a perplexed look on his face. At the sight of the two of us, he gave one of his annoying little smirks. "Change your mind about joining me, boys?" he asked coyly.
I grabbed him by both shoulders, pulling him to within inches of my face. "Who did you call?" I demanded.
He blinked, and I squeezed a little harder and gave him a hard shake, knowing my hands would probably leave bruises. "Who, dammit?"
Sudden realization lit the indigo eyes, and a blush crept up his cheeks. Yeah, the little fucker knew all right. He knew exactly what he'd done and that I'd found out.
As quickly as it came his embarrassment passed, to be replaced by defiance. I could see the gleam of it in the indigo eyes. He opened his mouth as if for a smart remark, and at my piercing glare apparently thought better of it, closing his jaw and looking away. "A friend," he muttered almost under his breath.
I gave another hard shake, frustration boiling up inside me. "Who? Barton?"
He shook his head.
"Then who, goddamnit?!"
He glared back at me, eyes alight with anger, and brought both arms up inside mine, breaking my hold and backing away from me, glaring.
"Look--I had to talk to someone! You and your stick-up-his-ass partner were driving me fucking nuts with your lectures and rules and--and--all that shit! You wouldn't even give me the time of day an' I damn well needed someone to talk to--just once!"
I almost thought his eyes were bright with tears, but it had to be plain frustration. "Who?" I demanded again.
He swallowed hard. "No one who'd have told anyone about it--"
At that point Chang was moved to action, dropping the shirt he'd been holding, pulling his gun and leveling it point blank at Maxwell's face. "Goddamnit, Maxwell, do you have a death wish? Who did you call? I swear to God if you don't tell us I'll kill you myself!"
I almost made a grab for it, but being uncertain if the safety was on or off, I didn't want to jar his arm. "Chang!"
Maxwell took another step back, eyes wide. And then his face darkened and his fists clenched at his sides. "Go the fuck ahead if you want!" he challenged.
"You want to die?"
"I don't really care!" he snapped. "You wanna know if I have a death wish? Well maybe I did. Maybe watching them bury Zechs on national t.v. was enough to make me wish Khushrenada's fuckin' goons had found me in that goddamned penthouse! And maybe having to put up with your shit day after day was enough to make me not care what happened to me any more." He came forward and shoved me in the chest with both hands, pushing me back a step. "So go on, then! Whatever you want--you wanna hit me? Shoot me? Just fuckin' do it and get it over with!"
I thought for a split-second Chang might pull that trigger, and I hastily pushed upwards on the barrel of the gun. "Put it away!" I growled, sparing a momentary glare for him as well as Maxwell.
He obeyed me, never taking his livid gaze from Maxwell's face. "Who the fuck did you call, Maxwell?" he demanded again. "Whoever it was sold you out to Khushrenada and nearly got us all killed!"
Maxwell's jaw dropped. "But that's not possible! Hilde wouldn't do that to me--"
"Hilde?" I asked dangerously. "The stripper? You fuckin' called a stripper?"
"I called a friend!"
"Well your friend made a call to Khushrenada's private office number right after your dumbass call to Sanc," I told him, glaring hard enough to melt steel. "Did you tell her where we were?"
"No! Jesus, Yuy, I'm not that stupid! I never said where I was. We just talked--about Zechs--about the funeral. She couldn't have known where I was!"
"Oh really? It never occurred to you that she could look at the caller i.d.?"
"It was a pay phone," he said rather faintly, his defiance slipping into confused dismay.
Chang cut back in then, his tone scathing. "You called from a goddamned land line! Anyone can backtrack a phone nowadays--especially someone with Khushrenada's technology."
"I wasn't thinking of Khushrenada!" he insisted.
"Well obviously she was," I pointed out. "Someone must have offered her money to let them know if she heard from you. And you--fucking idiot that you are--called her."
"I didn't know!" he blurted miserably. "I trusted her. How could I know she'd--that she'd--?" He put a hand to his face, his voice hoarse. "I just wanted someone to talk to."
I shook my head, amazed at his stupidity, and seething with anger. "You risked everything just to whine about your dead boyfriend to a fuckin' stripper."
"A friend."
"A friend who sold you out for top dollar! Why call her? Why not Barton?"
"He was working. I did try him first."
"So you kept going down the list when he was unavailable? Who would you have called next? Your bookie?"
"No. I told you. I trusted Hilde!" he blurted with horrified realization on his face. "I fuckin' trusted her--"
"You deserve to die, Maxwell," Chang said coldly. "You're a goddamned idiot."
"Don't you think I fuckin' know that now?" Maxwell snapped, his expression wavering between embarrassment, disillusionment, and anger. "Don't you think I know I screwed up? I made a mistake, all right? A goddamned mistake!"
"That's putting it a little mildly," I pointed out. "A mistake would have been if you didn't know the potential consequences of your actions. You knew exactly what we were trying to protect you from. They blew up Barton's goddamned car! You knew how dangerous the situation was right from the start! You were selfish, thoughtless, reckless, and fucking suicidal, Maxwell! You almost got yourself killed."
"And what's worse," Chang interjected, "you almost got us killed along with you! I, for one, don't feel like dying for a piece of street trash who isn't smart enough to use the brains he was born with and simply cooperate with the men trying to keep him alive!"
"I did try!" Maxwell blurted. "I tried to put up with the lectures and the rules and being treated like a useless piece of shit! But after the funeral--I just couldn't do it! I needed out! Out from under the crap you kept shoveling!"
"And where did you think you'd go?" demanded my partner, his face livid. "What did you expect to find?"
"I expected to find someone who'd listen to me for once!" Maxwell retorted.
And then it was like a dam broke, and the words came tumbling out. "I needed to talk to someone who didn't hate me! I needed someone to give a shit how much it hurt! And I didn't care how much of a risk I was taking!" His eyes were too bright, glistening with unshed tears. But he seemed oblivious to the show of emotion, continuing in an increasingly ragged voice. "I didn't even get to say goodbye to him!" He blinked and ran a hand across his eyes, muttering a curse. "So if you think I was tempting fate--yeah, I was! If you think I didn't give a damn if I got blown away, you're fucking right! I didn't. I'd have been perfectly happy joining Zechs right about then--okay? I needed to be someplace dark and smoky, where I could get lost in the music and the booze and the sex. Was it colossally stupid? Sure! Did I give a shit? No!" He had his hands clenched into fists, his face flushed with anger. "You got your message across loud and clear. So just back the fuck off!"
"No one's backing off!" Wufei said harshly. "And if you think we were insufferable before, just wait! We're going to do our jobs, with or without your cooperation!" He stepped closer, pointing an accusing finger at Maxwell; a finger no less threatening than the gun barrel. "You will obey us from now on, and you will adhere to the rules we set up, or we'll fucking throw your ass out on the street and let you dodge Khushrenada's killers all by yourself!"
"Chang--" My voice held a clear warning in it. My partner was stepping over the line--not that drawing a gun on our witness had been any less extreme--and saying things he knew we wouldn't do.
He turned a sharp look at me, scowling and shaking his head. "I'm not joking, Yuy. If he steps out of line one more time..."
"What--you'll shoot me and collect the bounty?" Maxwell sneered. "I thought I told you to go the fuck ahead!"
"Don't tempt me!"
"Stop being melodramatic," I snarled. "Both of you!"
"I wasn't," Maxwell retorted. "If your psycho chink bastard of a partner wants me dead, he can take his best fucking shot!"
"If you risk my life or Yuy's again, I will!" Chang snapped back. "You're a worthless piece of ass whose only use is as a pawn against a smarter, shrewder man than you'll ever be! At least Khushrenada is an opponent worthy of a little respect!"
"Respect? You respect murderers, Chang?"
"When the murdered party is a drug-dealing lowlife who shacks up with street trash like you--yes, I do!"
The indigo eyes widened, and then narrowed and filled with hate. "Don't talk about Zechs like that. You can say what you want about me, but leave him out of it!"
As usual, when my partner saw a weakness, he knew exactly where to strike for maximum effect. "Merquise deserved exactly what he got. I only wish I'd been able to watch his brains get blown all over that fine Persian rug! And frankly, of the two, I'd mourn the rug more!"
Maxwell flinched just slightly, and I saw his jaw tighten. But amazingly, he kept himself in check. "Bite me, Chang!" He turned on a heel and stalked down the hallway and into his room.
I turned a disbelieving look on my partner. "I want to know what your problem is, Chang. And I want to know now!"
"My problem is Maxwell's disregard for our rules and our lives."
"Bullshit. It's much more than that. It runs much deeper than that," I said firmly. "I was mad at him when we came up here--but you-- You were out of control."
"I didn't pull the trigger."
"Not the one on your gun," I growled back. "But you just shoved Merquise's death in Maxwell's face. That was cold, even for you!"
"Do you expect me to feel sympathy for the man who nearly got us killed?"
"I expect you to be professional about this! He fucked up; plain and simple."
He faltered at that; I think he saw my point.
"I've never seen you so--heartless," I said, backing off just a bit. "I know you, Chang. I've known you a long time. And I've always thought you were honorable--decent. Now are you going to tell me what it is that made you hate Maxwell from the start--what could make you take such cheap shots at someone who's obviously insecure?"
"Him? Insecure?" Chang snorted skeptically.
"Every time you remind him of Merquise--or of the fact that he came from the streets--he runs," I pointed out. "He did it at the rest stop, and he did it just now. What is it about him that irks you so much that you'd go out of your way to cause him pain?"
"I don't believe gutter trash knows how to feel pain," came the contemptuous reply. "You saw the tattoo--he's a gang member, Yuy--the lowest form of life out on the streets. He's caused countless deaths in his lifetime, just by helping the dealers move their product. And his other crimes--how much heartache do you suppose they caused?"
I blinked, fixating on my partner's choice of words. "Heartache?"
He shook his head, walking over and picking his shirt up off the floor. "Yuy--the man's a waste of space. I'll protect him because it's my job. I'll protect him because he's useful. But don't tell me I have to like him, or respect him, or give him the fucking time of day, because I won't." He turned sharply on his heel and started for the stairs.
"We're not done with this!" I began.
But he was already heading down the steps, leaving me standing in the hallway puzzling over the issue. What was it about Maxwell that Chang hated so much? And how had we gone from a peaceful dinner and a dawning spirit of teamwork right back into the angry, adversarial relationship we'd started with?
Oh. Right. The phone call.
Now that I'd had time to vent a little of my frustration, I was beginning to feel relieved that we knew how Khushrenada had tracked us down. It wasn't a police department leak, or a surveillance device we might have missed, or simple deduction--it was one foolish phone call.
And as stupid as he'd been to make that call, I could almost understand why Maxwell did it. He'd tried making overtures to Chang and me in the car and at the cottage. We'd firmly rebuffed any attempt at familiarity or camaraderie. It was no wonder he'd gone elsewhere for comfort when he needed it.
I couldn't help but recall the expression on his face as he'd walked away. He looked bleak to the point of hopelessness. It reminded me of the way he'd told Rhonda he was on a one-way trip.
Frowning in thought, I made my way to Maxwell's room, pausing outside the half-open door. There was no sound from inside--no breaking glass, or crashing furniture--and I wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or bad.
I stepped in to see Maxwell sitting on the bed doggedly brushing his damp mane of hair. He looked up with a glare that could have stripped flesh from bone. "What the fuck do you want?"
"I need to know," I said evenly--coolly. "Do you still feel like that?"
"Like what?"
"Suicidal."
He raised an eyebrow. "What's it to you?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive. Beyond the obvious dodging of hit men, I'd like to know how hard it's going to be."
He considered for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, Yuy, I'm not suicidal. I want to live. I guess part of me always did, or I'd have tried to stop Khushrenada and gotten myself blown away in that penthouse along with Zechs."
"So you won't do anything--rash?"
"I'm not gonna slit my wrists or anything, if that's what you're worried about," he said dryly.
"And you'll stop taking risks?"
All the fight seemed to drain out of him, even as I watched, and he flopped back against his pillow, gazing up at me with a frown. Then he nodded, sighing deeply. "I'll do what you tell me to. I'll behave myself like a good little pawn should." He drew a deep breath. "I'm tired, Yuy. I'm so fuckin' tired."
"Then stop fighting us."
A bitter smile quirked his lips. "Sure, detective. Whatever you say. I'll sleep when you tell me to sleep, eat when you tell me to eat...hell, I'll let you both take turns fucking me if you want."
"We aren't that kind of cops."
"Yeah, well--I guess if you'd arrested me three years ago, Solo an' the others would still be alive, and I wouldn't be here." The indigo eyes fixed me with a look I couldn't decipher; it was some cross between regret and longing.
And I felt those same emotions knot up inside my chest--regret and longing. If he wasn't here, I wouldn't be either. I wouldn't have gotten to know this Duo Maxwell--the one who could make eating a cheeseburger erotic, and just about drive a man to orgasm by the way he consumed french fries--the one who could make gourmet spaghetti using frozen hamburger, canned tomato sauce, and the contents of a well-stocked spice rack--the one whose obvious misery was making me want to sit down beside him on that bed, put my arms around him, and offer comfort and support.
How had I gone from wanting to throttle him to wanting to take that miserable expression off his face?
"Don't you have some kind of detective shit to be doing?" he asked, his tone faintly mocking.
I realized I'd been staring, and forcibly pulled myself back together. "Yeah, I guess I do." I opened my mouth to caution him about safety, but he beat me to it.
"I'll leave the door ajar. I'll tell you or Chang if I'm going to the bathroom, or getting something out of the kitchen, or leaving this room for any reason at all. I won't make any phone calls. I won't go outside. I won't fucking breathe if you tell me not to." He closed his eyes. "But right now, my feet hurt worse than knowing Hilde sold me out, and I really want to sleep...if I can."
I nodded, turning to leave. But I paused at the door, looking back over my shoulder to see the same lost expression on his face I'd seen at the hospital just a few days earlier...days that seemed like weeks. "I'm sorry it turned out like that," I said rather lamely. "With Hilde, I mean."
He glanced up quickly--uncertainly. "Me too," he sighed, swallowing hard and looking away.
TBC...
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