Touching Evil (16 page)

"I got nothing here. Can't we close shit off? Hang a blanket or
something. I'll get Greg." He had to get Greg off the roof before
someone got hurt.

"Okay. The guys didn't find any evidence the perp was in the store,
Art. Maybe we can get him into his office? He can be alone in there."

"Yeah. I think I can do that. I'll go." Trudging, feeling old, Artie
made his way up the stairs again, poking his head out. "Greg? Babe?
They're gonna be taking your picture. They've cleared the shop. Can you
manage the office?"

Those dark eyes met his from where Greg was sitting, hiding by the storage room. "I suppose. I can't stay here forever."

"No. No, you can't. Come on, man. We can get you settled. I'm not
doing any good in there. I can ... I can take your statement or
something." God, he needed to get his shit together.

"Okay." Greg reached up for him, eyes sort of ... sympathetic. "Will you take me home with you, after all this?"

Artie grinned back, finally feeling like he knew an answer. "Babe,
I'd take you home right now if I didn't have all this work I had to
do." He let his hand close around Greg's, let himself feel a moment.
"That's not gonna change."

"Good." Greg stood up, looking pale, but
there
. "Okay. You open the door."

"Yeah." He let go of Greg to do it, not wanting to act like any kind of transmitter.

Greg walked—so careful, not touching, not leaning, not even
seeming to breathe as they headed down the stairs. They got to the
apartment and Greg swayed, eyes closing. Artie hurried him into the
elevator, needing to get the man safe again. Well, safer.

"I don't know what I'll do, about here. I don't know if I can..." Greg shook his head, eyes staring at all the
people
, at the mess. "Artie? Who took my kit?"

"Your kit?"

"Yes. My surgeon's kit. It was a little rolled bag with a scalpel, forceps. They were my great-grandfather's. They're gone."

"I'll check. Come on. Down. We'll get you settled." Then he'd come
back and hope to God there was someone to ream for moving the kit.

"Okay." Greg waited for him to open the elevator, wincing as people
moved things, touched things. "Artie. Artie, can we bring your chair?
Please? Before it's ruined."

"You bet. I'll bet it's clear." He left Greg standing there to go
stop some poor pimple-faced kid just in time. "Don't touch, man. Let me
clear it. Greg wants to take it downstairs to sit in."

"Sure, detective. Hands off."

The look on Greg's face made things ... more solid. More like he
could keep his feet under him. Of course, with that stability came the
first flushes of hot anger. Artie lifted cushions and turned the chair
up on its front legs, checking for weird stains or odd bumps in the
upholstery, just in case. It looked okay, so he dragged it to the
elevator.

Greg helped, entire body relaxing after his hands landed on the upholstery. "Just us. Thank God. Just you and me."

"Good. Let's get it out of here, then." Someplace Greg could curl up
and relax downstairs would help. An oasis of calm. Artie wrestled it in
and closed the gate, pushing the button for the ground floor.

"Is Alice okay? Mitch?" Greg just kept stroking the chair, eyes closed.

"Alice's a little shook up. Mitch came to get her. Leah's gonna
check in on them later, and I put a uniform on their house on the Q.T."
Just in case.

"Okay. You're a good cop, Artie. This isn't about you."

"I know. I'm not trying to. Shit. It's not me I'm worried about,
Greg. I'm furious for you. And worried." And just. Feeling like it was
personal, damn it.

"That's not what I meant. I mean ... I mean it isn't your fault."
Greg caught his eyes, just so fucking pale. "And I'm glad you're
pissed. I'm pissed. That was my house."

"It still is. And it's fucking wrong." He reached out, put his hand on Greg's. "I'm sorry, babe."

"Yeah." Greg nodded, starting to shake a little, holding on to him. "Can we make coffee in the office?"

"We can. We'll put sugar in it." That would help with the shock.
Artie moved around and held on, letting his arms close around Greg's
waist.

Greg took a hitching breath, leaning fully into him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, babe. We'll figure it out. I promise." They'd find
this creep and they'd put him in jail until the end of the world.

"Yes. Do you think this is my fault?"

"No. I think this is the product of one deranged fucking mind. You
just happen to be the target." No way could Greg be the thing that
cracked this guy. He was just the thing that set the guy off this time.
If not Greg, it would have been someone else.

Greg nodded. "Okay. Okay. Let's make coffee and I'll do the statement thing."

"Okay, babe." It seemed like they'd done this before. Several times. "Let's do it."

Artie got the chair settled, helped Greg make coffee, and sat down with his notebook and his pen.

He only hoped this was the last time he had to do this.

Chapter Eleven

It was almost nine before they pulled up to Artie's place, Artie's chair strapped in the trunk of the car.

Greg had stopped thinking hours ago. Stopped talking before that.
Hell, he'd made three pots of coffee himself, drinking it hot and
sweet, pouring it into himself as he curled in Artie's chair.

Artie swore no one had touched his clothes, so he had a bag of his own stuff packed and then a new hairbrush and toothbrush.

He wasn't sure what had been in the bathroom.

He didn't want to know.

They got the chair into the apartment, Duke mewling and spitting and
worrying, jumping right on his suitcase and rubbing on it furiously.

"Thank you, Duke." Yeah, make it right again.

Artie chuckled, the first sound he'd made since they started the
drive over, and it sounded like two rocks grinding together. "That
damned cat always knows. Albacore for you tonight, buddy. Or smoked
salmon."

Greg nodded, pushed Artie's chair to an out-of-the-way place and sat, curling into it with a sigh.

Artie puttered a little, feeding Duke, moving Greg's suitcase into
the bedroom, taking off his coat and tie. Washing up a little. Then
Artie just came right to him and sat on the arm of the chair, hand on
his.

"Hey." If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was home.

"Hey." Artie didn't say anything else, really, just stroked his hand, thumb moving on his skin. Just touching.

He wasn't sure what it meant, that Artie's mind was quiet, still.

Resting.

"You hungry?" Artie finally asked, as Duke wandered over to rub around his feet.

"I should be, I suppose." No meat. He didn't think he could face meat.

"I have some cereal. Some blueberries, I think." Artie leaned a
little more, heavy and warm, just starting to melt into him a little.

"Mmmhmm." He nodded, shifted so Artie could settle closer.

"We'll do that, then." Big as the man was, Artie still managed to
fit in the chair with him, slipping down and half pulling him on those
solid thighs.

He kept his eyes closed, fingers settling against Artie's chest. He could feel Duke, right at his ankles, purring and vibrating.

"Mmmm." Artie hummed, held on, those arms around him, one hand on
his back. They breathed together, Artie's chest rising and falling
hypnotically.

Okay, he could just stay.

Right here.

Greg dozed, waking himself up every time he slipped deep enough to dream.

Artie was there every time, petting him, murmuring, "I got you, babe. Right here."

"Right here." God, he was tired, bone-deep weary.

"Yep. With me." Artie's lips grazed his forehead, those hands starting to dig into his muscles, easing the aches.

"Oh..." The sound that left him sounded almost broken. Almost, damn it.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's okay, Greg. Whatever you need." So good to him. So good. Artie sat, loved on him, mumbled nonsense words.

"It feels good. Nothing ought to feel good right now."

Nothing should feel anything but raw.

"Why not? We gotta rest sometime." That poor voice. Artie sounded so hoarse. So tired. As tired as he felt.

"Yeah. Yeah, I could rest for a while." A month. A year.

"Me, too, babe. We should go to like, Fiji. Hell, I'd settle for the
Outer Banks." He could feel the tiny smile that curved Artie's mouth.
He nodded, kept his eyes closed as a dull, horrified panic rushed over
him again. Someone—a killer—had been in his house. He
hadn't been farther than Artie's apartment in almost a decade.

Artie's hands soothed him, smoothing out the tension in his muscles as he tensed up. "Shh. I got you. I got you."

"Got me. I'm sorry. It's just—" He took a deep breath, tried to relax. "It's been a long day."

"No. No apologies. I just want you to try to relax, babe. I know it's hard."

"What am I going to do? I don't ... I." Greg looked up at Artie,
heart just pounding. "Last night was the first night I'd spent away
from home since I came here."

Artie stared right back at him, serious as a heart attack. "We'll
find you a safe place, Greg. Some place you love. I promise." The look
turned to a funny little grimace. "For right now my place will have to
do."

He frowned, fingers reaching for Artie, needing to know what that
look meant, what Artie meant. Artie took his hand, rubbed it against
that stubbly cheek. Artie was worried that his place wasn't good
enough, that it was too messy, too much Duke, not safe enough. Worried
that Greg wasn't going to want to stay.

"I—" He tugged Artie closer, brought their lips together. "There isn't too much Duke, too much you."

"Oh, good." Artie kissed him, lips pushing against his, tongue opening his mouth, suddenly urgent instead of soothing.

Greg gasped, let the hunger push him along a little, let it push
away at the fear and fury. It pushed everything out in front of it,
Artie cupping the back of his head and kissing him hard, bruising his
mouth a little, his lips swelling.

More. More. He arched, demanding, entire body taut.

Artie cupped his butt and pulled, giving him leverage, something to
push against as Artie moved under him, surrounded him. The kiss got
toothy, Artie groaning for him. He just let it take him, let all the
shit and worry go and just rocked, took all the pleasure Artie offered
him. And Artie offered a lot, tugging at his shirt, his soft pants,
getting him naked so those rough hands could move over his skin, could
find all of his hot spots. The underside of his arms, the back of his
neck, his lower belly ... Artie touched them all, teased them.

Those hands. God. Greg did his best to touch back, to return the
favor, but he was caught in everything Artie was giving him. That was
okay. He could feel Artie's need to give, to make it better. Could hear
the man thinking like he was saying it out loud. Artie wanted this for
him. One hand dropped to Greg's lap, stroking his cock, making him
crazy.

His head fell back, hips snapping up into that touch. That hand. "Artie..."

"Uh-huh. Greg. Babe." That voice still sounded blown, but now it was sexy rough. Hot.

"Yeah. Yeah, I need." He did. He needed this, just as much as Artie
did. Greg forced his eyes open, forced himself to focus, to see Artie,
right there.

"Me, too, babe." He could see the grimace now, one of utter pleasure, the worry and stress of the day gone for that moment.

"I feel you." He laughed, caught right there. "I feel you. Christ."

"Yeah. I need. Babe. My pants." Artie shivered beneath him, hand still working him, hips rolling.

Okay. Pants. Right. He got his hands down there, working Artie's zipper down.

"Oh." Artie panted for him, thick cock pushing right up into his
hand as he got through the pants and underwear. Hot and wet, Artie felt
so good, took the rest of the bad thoughts right out of his head.

"Yeah. Yeah, want." He wanted Artie everywhere. Anywhere. But now this was right. Desperate. Heated. Now.

Hauling him up even more, Artie got them where their cocks pressed
together, where he could get friction. They both moaned at the feel of
it.

Oh, yeah. Just. That was. God. Greg kissed Artie hard, panting and groaning into those lips.

They rocked, the chair creaking but holding, their skin heating
almost unbearably. Artie groaned for him, not making sense, but he
didn't have to. Greg could hear him through their skin.

Want. Hot. Good. Love. He could hear it. Love.

His hips snapped, heat shooting out of him and leaving him
vibrating. Artie humped up, body going tight as a wire, cock jerking in
Greg's hand as he came, too, nothing in his thoughts but pure pleasure,
pure need for Greg. Pure love.

That was what he needed. Just that. Just right now.

"Thank you." His cheek rested on Artie's shoulder.

"Mmmhmm. Better." Artie just leaned against him, too, heavy and solid. Breathing him in.

"Uh-huh." He just nodded. Felt.

Artie stroked his back, soothing, just making them both slow down, calm down. "You'll stay, yeah? For a while?"

"With you? Until you get tired of me."

Those heavy arms wrapped around him again, holding him, making him
feel safe even if just for a little bit. "Then you're gonna be here a
while," Artie said, squeezing.

And Greg could feel the truth of it, all the way to his bones.

"Good thing we have your chair." He smiled, foot carefully petting Duke, just sliding.

"Uh-huh. It's a good chair." Comfy. Sturdy. Like Artie.

"It is." He listened to Artie's stomach rumble, growl. Someone was hungry.

"I could make some eggs or something," Artie said, just like he'd
heard Greg's thoughts. "Toast. Or maybe some veggie soup. I have some
canned minestrone."

"Cereal is good. Then we'll make something better after we shower."

"Okay. We could both stand some steam." Artie didn't sound inclined
to move, but his stomach growled again, and they both chuckled.