“Thanks?”
“It’s a compliment,” Crybaby assured him. “Go shower. You smell like shit.”
Noah promptly took the fastest shower of his life, drying and changing into a green polo shirt and dark jeans. He kept the necklace Alistair had given him that morning, and he tried to recreate the soft hairstyle as well. He zoomed back out into the bedroom so fast that he startled Crybaby and Roger.
Roger had made himself comfortable on Noah’s bed, and he jumped, hissing angrily, “Jesus! What the fuck, kid?”
“Hey! Come on!” Noah grinned as he hurried out into the hallway. “Let’s go!”
“Where’s the fuckin’ fire?” Crybaby demanded, having to jog to keep up with Noah’s quick pace.
“In Alistair’s pants!” Roger laughed as he caught up with them.
Noah ignored them.
He was on a mission now.
Frida had given him the name of the lover both Uncle Patrick and Carbone were supposedly fighting over, and thanks to Roger he knew the name of the club. All he had to do now was figure out a way to make Alistair take him there.
Outside of the house. That he wasn’t allowed to leave.
Shit.
The living room was marked by smooth leather furniture, tall arched windows, and a rustic fireplace framed in red and orange decorative tiles. Alistair and Mickey had taken the two chairs in front of the fireplace while Mace and Junior hovered nearby. There was no immediate sign of Erasmus.
Noah marched right over to Alistair, catching the end of what must have been a very interesting conversation.
“…and then she hit him with her shoe.” Mickey chuckled quietly. “Repeatedly.”
“Ah, that sweet girl.” Alistair grinned. “I pray she never changes.” He glanced up to Noah, taking his hand and kissing it. He looked him over. “Mm, much better. Thank you.”
“Yeah, no problem.” Noah’s heart did that weird fluttery thing when Alistair didn’t let go of his hand right away.
“Sit.” Alistair nodded to the floor.
Noah wanted to argue with what he thought was a stupid request, but he needed to behave himself. He plopped down on his butt next to Alistair’s legs and was rewarded with Alistair’s fingers petting the back of his neck.
“Am I okay to talk in front of your… boy?” Mickey seemed uncertain about how to address Noah.
“Go ahead,” Alistair said.
Roger slinked up behind Mickey’s chair, leaning over and sliding his hands down his chest. “You already tell him about the hotel, huh?”
Apparently not, since Alistair asked, “What hotel?”
“The one Patrick was supposedly staying at.” Mickey glanced warily down at Noah before continuing. “Paid with his credit card over the phone, never checked in.”
“Well, that just further supports your theory.”
“What theory?” Noah blurted out.
“That your uncle never went to fuckin’ Florida,” Mickey replied.
Alistair petted Noah’s hair soothingly. “Mickey and Roger couldn’t find him because he wasn’t there. It’s the simplest explanation. Someone wanted us to think he’d fled, either Patrick himself or someone who’s been helping him.”
Noah wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse having that information. He decided to clam up for now, enjoying Alistair’s gentle touch. There had to be some kind of trust growing between them for Alistair to be comfortable sharing all of this with him.
That or he was planning to kill Noah.
