Jericho had a hard time getting things installed properly because Atticus in the kitchen in a pair of sweatpants, pale skin and more freckles than stars in the sky on full display, was distracting. The way he moved around the kitchen with ease, chopping vegetables with a wickedly sharp knife that he wielded with precision. Atticus might not like killing, but Jericho guessed he was probably not as bad at it as his siblings implied.
Jericho had the television face down on the couch, attaching the mounting bar when he felt Atticus watching him. He glanced up to see him leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. Jericho’s gaze drifted to toned abs and a trail of reddish-blond hair that disappeared into gray sweatpants that rode low on his hips.
“Whatcha doin’, Freckles? Admiring the view?”
“It’s a pretty good one,” Atticus admitted.
Jericho’s stomach did a somersault, but he didn’t let it show. “Only pretty good?”
Before Atticus could respond, his phone erupted on the counter beside him. “Calliope.”
Atticus had called when they’d woken up from their post-sex nap. Had she already found dirt on Gabe?
“Hey, Calliope,” Atticus said, putting it on speaker. “Did you find something?”
“Not sure, honestly.”
Atticus sighed. “Not helpful.”
“I ran my usual checks, and while your boy is definitely on the take from…someone, I don’t see anything specific leading to some kind of secret, corrupt organization. He’s also not very good at hiding his ill-gotten gains. There’s a very good chance that if the FBI doesn’t get him, the IRS will. He’s dropping large cash deposits on the regular, but there’s no way to chase the cash.”
“Is there anything at all that could tell you if he’s just dirty or if he was specifically planted there to handle people like Jericho and their families when someone mysteriously goes missing?” Atticus asked.
Calliope made a ‘hm’ sound. “I could hack his phone, his computer. But that’s going to take time. I would limit how much information you give him going forward.”
“Yeah, not a problem,” Jericho muttered.
“I’ll let you know if or when I find something.”
With that, she was gone. Jericho sighed. Some part of him always felt like Gabe was…managing him. Always steering him away from looking into Mercy’s case himself. But maybe he was reading too much into it. Either way, he was dirty. If he was turning a blind eye to gang activity, he was hurting people. A lot of people.
He snagged his phone from the charger beside Atticus’s and dialed his brother. He answered on the third ring. “What?” he asked, clearly still sulking.
“I’m just checking in. Has anybody reported back with any information?” he asked.
Felix snorted. “I thought we answered to you and your boyfriend. Why would they come to me?”
“Felix, I don’t have time for this. I know you’re being territorial, but this is about Mercy. Remember? Atticus isn’t…replacing you. You’re my only family left,dìdi. Stop being difficult, please.”
Felix heaved a sigh. “Fine. Nobody’s reported back but Seven, and he said he had a weird conversation with Benny, the guy who sits outside the Dunkin’ on 3rd street, but that doesn’t mean much of anything. All conversations are weird with Benny. He’s not all there. Always rambling about being abducted and experimented on by aliens. He’s coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs.”
Jericho waited for his brother to say more and, when he didn’t, prompted, “Well, what was it that Benny said to Seven that stood out?”
“Just that Benny showed him a scar.”
“What kind of scar?”
Felix hesitated. “The kind that looks like somebody took his kidney.”
When they went to the coffee shop the following morning, Benny wasn’t there. Jericho said this was his usual haunt, that the staff often gave him the leftovers from the night before and the patrons chatted and bought him the occasional cup of coffee. They considered waiting for him, but Jericho said he was likely sleeping off a hangover under the overpass where many of the homeless made camp.
Atticus had experienced poverty, had lived in horrible conditions before Thomas had found him and decided to make him his first subject. But the rotted out trailer, where he’d spent the first eight years of his life, was nothing like the grassless stretch underneath the overpass where more than a dozen tents were all clustered together.
They weren’t real tents. They were sheets and blankets tossed over heavy duty rope that spanned the length of the overpass. Some had tarps thrown over them to protect the occupants from the elements, but others didn’t. A small group of people sat outside around an even smaller fire trying to ward off the early morning chill of fall.
The change of seasons never seemed like some kind of cause for celebration to him. It was simply science. A thing that was inevitable. But to these people, the weather was a cause for concern, something to survive. It had been so long since Atticus had to worry about his survival it was almost like his past had happened to somebody else.
Jericho walked up to a woman with a young child who was bundled in an oversized jacket with a knit cap pulled down over their ears. “Hey, you seen Benny?”
