Touching Evil (22 page)

"I suppose I did."

"Well, we got you now." Artie gave him a little smile, bruises
coming to light along one cheek. "There. All set. See, you're free."

"Yeah." He tried to smile back and stopped as his cheek screamed
out. Oh. Oh, okay. So none of that shit. Damn. "I have to pee." He
stood up, wavering a little as Alice came close. "Don't! Don't fucking
touch me. I can't."

"It's okay, Alice," Artie said, sitting up with a groan and reaching
out to pat Alice's hand. "If he's on his feet, you and Mitch are safe
to go. Thank you so much."

"Okay. Okay, Greg. I'm sorry, honey." Oh, for Christ's sake. Don't cry.

"Yeah. I'm just edgy. Go make us money, beautiful." His teeth were
floating; if he didn't get to the bathroom soon, he was going to do his
impersonation of a water sprinkler.

Artie stood, wrapping a sheet around his waist. "Come on, hon. I'll
walk you out. Greg can motivate to the head on his own. Holler if you
need me, babe."

"Yeah." He made it to the bathroom, careful not to touch any of
Artie's clothes, any of the towels the doctor had used, anything but
the faucet, the toilet paper, the handle. His breath eased as nothing
set him off.

By the time he got back out Alice was gone. Artie was nowhere to be
seen in the bedroom, either, only Duke, delicately picking his way
through the covers and sniffing.

"Hey, man. Did you get your pound of flesh off Mitch?" He settled on the edge of the mattress, hand held out for Duke.

Duke came right to him, bright Siamese eye focused on him, cheek stroking against his fingers.

"Mmm." He smiled, relaxed, scratching those soft ears, humming low.

"Hey." Artie stood in the doorway, regarding him and Duke with a fond, if wary, expression. "Better?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I just ... I couldn't let her." He scratched his
way along Duke's spine, focusing on that happy spot at the base of his
tail.

"I know. She's all right. Just worried."

Duke did that kitty ecstasy thing, arching, good eye fluttering.
Artie laughed, the sound oddly loud in the quiet room. Duke purred like
a motor.

"That's right. It feels good, yeah, Duke?" He looked up at Artie,
knowing that he looked sort of monstrous, with the bruising and
swelling.

"Feels good to know that something can still feel ... uh ... good."

"Yeah." The edges of Artie's mouth curled up in a funny grin. "I'd
show you, but we're both beat to hell. How about food? I bet that will
help with the pleasure principle. I know it will for me."

"No meat." He nodded, even though he wasn't sure he was hungry. "I could make eggs."

"Sure. I can help. Butter toast." Finally, Artie moved, coming
close, not touching, but close. They shared a touch of sorts through
Duke, who graciously allowed Artie to scratch his chin.

"And salmon for Duke. Alice probably fed him something horrible and organic."

"That must be why he tried to take off my shin." Oh, ow. That cat was going to be the death of Artie for sure. It must be love.

"Probably." He stood up, looking for Artie's shorts. The soft ones.

Pointing him toward the chest of drawers, Artie dropped the sheets
and headed into the bathroom, coming back a minute later, scratching
his belly. "Damn. I'm all fuzzy."

"You look good." He felt ... shattered. Literally. Like he was made of glass and had been slammed against the floor.

"I look like a three-day binge. Come on, babe. Food." Artie wandered out into the hallway, still naked as a jaybird.

"Shake it, detective." He followed, frowning at all the things Alice had cleaned, moved.

"She didn't touch my chair," Artie said, as if he'd heard. Even
Artie's ass had a bruise on it. But he got a nice show as Artie
jiggled, just for him.

"Good. I love that chair." Greg made his way to the kitchen, the
whole thing spotless. Shining. Alice-ized. "Throw that tea away, would
you?"

"Uh-huh. Nasty." Pots and pans rattled as Artie set him up for egg
making, then moved to dump the pot of tea in the sink. "Knowing my
luck, Duke will crave it now."

"You think? We'll tempt him away with tuna." He found the salt and pepper, a fork. It was almost normal.

Sort of.

"Yeah. The good stuff. You don't think he'll get mercury poisoning or anything do you?" Only Artie would worry about that.

"I don't think so. He might be able to eat thermometers like pretzel sticks and be okay."

"This is true. He's not really a cat. He's a demon in kitty clothes.
I bet he has stomach acid like brimstone." They grinned at each other,
the familiar banter easing their way.

"Yes. Thank goodness he's on our side." He looked down at Artie's ankles, all scratched and torn up. "Usually."

"He was kinda pissy at me." The bread was a little moldy. Artie
rummaged in the freezer and handed him some bagels for bread instead.

"Do you know ... I mean, what
day
is it? How long did everything take to happen?"

"I knew before I went to bed. I had to date those forms. I'm on leave..." He got a kind of helpless look. "I don't know, babe."

"Me either." Greg looked back. "We'll watch the news ... when it comes on. Next."

"Yeah. I don't know ... it's three." The little clock on the microwave said three.

"Well, Alice was dressed and the sun is up, so it has to be afternoon."

"Oh, good. Right." The food actually started to smell good, the
simple smells of yeast and eggs and stuff really making him hungry.

They got the food plated up, got settled, him in Artie's chair,
Artie on the old plaid sofa, both of them quiet and eating, forks
clicking and sliding on the china.

Artie kept sneaking peeks at him, gray eyes rising and then falling.
A couple times it looked like Artie might say something, but just
didn't.

He knew how Artie felt. He wanted ... Hell, he didn't fucking know what he wanted.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to do if he did.

Finally Artie sighed and put his plate aside, patting his belly. "Good, babe."

"Yeah." He nodded, curling up in the chair, cheek on one arm, legs sprawling. "I was starving."

Artie got up and came over, settling on the floor next to the chair,
head leaning back next to his face. Close, but not touching.

"Hey." He could smell Artie and it was right. It was just ... Yeah.

"Hey. Fuck, babe, it's been a long couple of days." The man had a talent for understatement.

"Yeah. Yeah, you could say that." He nodded, the action brushing his lips against the top of Artie's head.

The man all but purred for him, that tiny touch drawing a shiver. "I
could," Artie agreed, "but Duke would claw me for repeating myself."

"I wouldn't want that." He watched his hand as it slid over his own chest, heading for Artie.

Leaning into his touch before it even came, Artie smiled for him,
eyes sliding closed. "We could go back to bed. Nothing energetic. Just
a nap."

"Yeah. Yeah, we could. I ... Yeah, Artie. We need to rest."

"We do. The rest can wait, you know?" For now. It was unspoken, but left in the air.

"Yes. It's going to have to."

"Okay." Rolling to his feet, Artie stood and held a hand down to him. "We'll leave the dishes."

He reached up, hand slapping into Artie's, the random thoughts and
images panicking him for a second before they eased into something
closer to normal.

"Love you," Artie said, looking him right in the eye. Greg could
feel everything between them coalesce into those two words, Artie
meaning them with everything in him.

Yeah. The rest could wait.

Chapter Seventeen

Artie wandered.

He wasn't sure what else to do. He was still on leave, and when he'd
called in to ask about coming back, the cap had reamed him but good. He
figured that was a big old no.

All he'd done to get him out of the house was grocery shop,
replacing the macrobiotic shit Alice had gotten them with pork rinds
for him and oranges for Greg and a tiny bag of lump crab meat for Duke.
As, like, a make-up gift.

Now he wandered back into the living room, idly scratching his bare
belly above his loose pants. At least on leave he didn't have to wear a
tie.

He grabbed the phone as he passed, dialing Leah's home number, just kinda needing to hear her voice.

"Man, they haven't let you go back either? Shit, you shoot a serial
psycho or get knocked up and they act like you're the bad guy." He
grinned at the words—no hello, how are you, how's things, just
right back into it. "How's the doc?"

"He's okay..." Looking fragile and disconnected, but better, maybe. Hell, who knew. "How's the panicky hubby?"

"Panicky. He fusses every time I get up to go to the friggin’
bathroom. He felt the baby kick yesterday, though. They're pretty sure
it's a girl."

"Oh, good. She'll be kick ass." He grinned a little, flopping down
in his chair. Greg was in the kitchen, Artie could hear the clatter of
something. "Did you finally get in to make your report?"

"Yeah. I'm on short hours until February, then gone until six weeks
after the baby comes. They're punishing me for not waiting for backup.
They tell you that the guy'd been watching Greg for years, man? Just
waiting?"

The little hairs on the back of his neck rose, even though he had
known that. It fucked him up every time. "Yeah. Sick fuck. What he did
to those girls."

"Yeah. They identified the last victim. A cherry reporter from KWAX.
Virginia something. Looks like he was the leak. Called it in to catch
her."

"Poor kid." He'd never lost any love for reporters, but no one deserved to die in pieces. "Anything you need, honey?"

"Real fucking coffee and for Tim to get his ass back to work."

Lord, he did love that woman. "Yeah, well, I can't help you with
either. But I can offer commiseration on the forced leave thing. Just
think of Lavaca and Jones having to take our cases."

Her laugh rang out, made him grin. "Oh, hell, yes. I dare that
stupid bastard to decipher your handwriting. Kiss the doc for me and
come visit. We'll compare battle scars."

"Will do." That would be a good thing, going to see Leah. And he'd
bet Greg could use some alone time. The man was way more solitary than
Artie. "See you in a bit."

"I'll be here." He heard her telling Tim he was going to visit as the phone hung up. Artie bet Tim would love that shit.

Rolling to his feet, Artie padded into the kitchen to put a hand on
Greg's shoulder. He made sure Greg saw him first, though. No surprises
right now. "Leah wants me to come on over for a bit. She's bored."

"Yeah? I bet. Bed rest sucks." Greg had been making a fruit
salad—grapes and berries and pineapple and shit. The man hadn't
been able to even look at meat since. Well, since Jerry the Crazy
Asshole had left presents all over Greg's place.

"Yeah, no kidding." His own arm still hurt, itched like crazy. The
enforced inactivity made him insane. Artie grabbed a grape. "You gonna
be good to go?"

"Yeah. I'm going to call Alice. Try to think about making some decisions for the store for the holidays."

"Cool." When Greg had told him he wasn't just going to sell the
store, Artie had been kinda relieved. Greg had put a lot into that
place, and it suited him. "Okay, babe. I'll take my cell. You've got
the new number?"

"Yeah. Have a good time. Tell her Alice asked about her." It was like Greg wasn't even there.

The whole thing just made him fucking furious. Artie sighed. "I will, babe. C'mere and give me sugar."

That got him a smile, Greg turning to pop a raspberry into his lips
before giving him a kiss, body pressed against his, nice and close.

Let that soak in a minute, he thought. Just a minute. Artie kissed back hard, holding Greg to him.

"Mmm..." It was something, the way Greg melted into him, rubbed against him.

"Yeah." That was a hell of a kiss, too, proving that Greg was in there somewhere, ready to be pulled out.

"Uh-huh." Oh. He remembered that dazed and melted look.

Pretty. Artie grinned. "Just wait until I get home. You can feed me fruit salad with your fingers."

Greg actually blushed; it was a good look. "I could really enjoy that..."

"Good. Count on it. I'll be back in about an hour and a half."
Another kiss and Artie went to put on clothes before he got too wrapped
up in Greg.

He heard Greg start to whistle before he was done. Oh. Oh, that was cool.

That made him smile all the way out of the apartment and halfway to
Leah's. The asshole that cut him off in traffic kinda took care of it
then.

Tim was out in the front yard, putting out mums and a wreath with a
cornucopia. God, in a year there'd be paper turkeys and moon-faced
pilgrims.

"Artie. You think you can manage not to get hurt if I let you in? Either one of you?" The words were only mostly a joke.

"I think so, man. I'm ready to go a good stretch with no shooting
and/or kidnapping." He'd almost said torture, but he figured Tim might
keel over.

"Go keep her company." Tim shook his head. "There's beer in the
fridge. She can't have any. Or caffeine. No matter what she says."

"Yeah. Okay." Poor Leah. The door yielded easily and Artie headed in, hollering for her. "Leah? Babe?"

"In the front room, stud! You're here! I'm bored! Did you bring me
ammo? There's these little kids throwing rocks at Buster and Keno in
the back yard..."

"No. I did bring you decaf French Roast." So there, Tim.

"Oh, I love you." She looked good, even if the ankle was in this
horrible, pinny traction deal. Man, she was sort of actually looking
pregnant.

Weird.

"Do I get to rub the Buddha?" he asked, heading for the kitchen to
start a pot. He'd do it just like Greg had told him to. Maybe it would
come out.

"You bet. She'll kick the hell out of you. How's the arm?" Leah's
kitchen made his and Greg's look sterile—so many colors and shit.