Slowly, oh so very slowly, George lifted his right hand to put it on Andi’s. The spark intensified, making Andi almost dizzy. “I think I love you, Andi. I don’t know what kind of love it is, not yet, but the things I feel for you, around you—they are too deep to remain invisible.”
It was all Andi’s selfish heart had hoped for, all he knew he shouldn’t want because binding George to him was unfair, sentencing him to be Andi’s caretaker, even though he could leave at any time, technically, but he was too conscientious, Andi knew it, just like he knew he couldn’t let George go, just like he knew that Georgeneededhim to not let him go, it was all such a complicated mess, like his bond to the arthropods, out of his control, driven by instinct, and so he said what needed to be said, for the sake of honesty and full disclosure, for his own sake, so when everything went to pieces, nobody, not even he himself, could say he hadn’t warned George.
“And why should they? I think I love you too, George. Though I don’t know how much of it is my dependency on you and what is tied up in thegeschenk. You know I’m a mess. I’ve never had a relationship. My libido is generally low because I usually don’t have the energy to waste. I have no clue what goes into the making of a functioning relationship, let alone a good one. I don’t dare to talk about perfect, because perfect is impossible, we both know that. Being with me is trying. It’s not just all the issues I pose, it’s how people are going to view you, our relationship, us. You’re not only with a man, a white man at that. You’re also with the crazy guy, the one without friends who keeps everybody at arm’s length.”
George leaned forward as well, took both of Andi’s hands in his.
“I know. And I’m not going to lie to both of us by saying it won’t ever be a problem. There will be times when I’ll resent what we are, what society sees in us. What I do know is that being with you is going to be one hell of a ride and that I’d regret it to my dying day if I didn’t take this chance. Also, I have already decided to petition to stay in Charleston as soon as Chief Norris is gone.”
Andi stared at him, drinking in the beauty, inside, outside, chemically, that was George Donovan. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He knew George hadn’t wanted him to worry about that as well, but he liked hearing it from him. George grinned knowingly.
“Didn’t want to worry you.”
“That’s something I’d love to worry about.”
“I don’t think it will be a problem with the chief gone. Charleston isn’t exactly teeming with detectives, and we make a great team, have numerous solves under our belts. What’s not to approve of?”
“Anybody who rejects such a perfect proposal would be an idiot.” Andi grinned. He felt so light inside, he thought he might be able to fly. Not right now, though, because the hot water was also making him tired. George tugged at his hand.
“Come here.”
With a sigh, Andi turned in the tub until his back was snuggled against George’s chest, his head once again close to his partner’s (boyfriend’s? lover’s?) heart. The most perfect place in the world. Andi closed his eyes.
“I’ll take care of the sloshed water later.” George kissed his temple, soft, unhurried, like he had a right to do it, which he had, and it felt perfect, two pieces finally slotting into place.
19. Intensification
WAKING UPwith Andi snuggled against his back was nice, George decided. After their bath and that first tentative kiss, going to the same bed had been the logical conclusion of their evening. With Andi so close, George’s sleep had been even better than if he’d been in his room. It was another sign telling him that things were going in the right direction. He always slept worst in his apartment, too far away from Andi to be there for him should anything happen. His sleep was leaps better when he was in the guest room, on the same floor, with his and Andi’s door ajar, but a certain tension remained because there was still distance to be covered. Now, with Andi’s warmth seeping into him, George had slept better than ever before in his life. He finally understood how great his need to protect Andi truly was, giving him peace in their otherwise troubled times. This was where he belonged, where he was meant to be. He turned to his partner, looked at his face. Andi was connected; George had learned to read those signs as well, the difference between a dream—which rarely occurred—and Andi piggybacking on a single arthropod’s senses during his sleep. It was definitely creepier when he was awake. George still shuddered inwardly when he thought about the spider in his car. At least when Andi’s eyes were closed, the part of George that protected his sanity—or what was left of it anyway—could pretend it was just a lively dream. It wasn’t. It usually was a death experience, plain and simple, but the human mind was capable of many things, and lying to itself was one of the greatest achievements humankind had ever made, at least in George’s opinion. It allowed him to calmly reach out and sling his arm around Andi, close his eyes as well, and concentrate on his partner’s breathing, which was too flat, too quick, to be restful. He tried to match it, his adrenaline spiking, evident in the quickening of his heartbeat hammering in his ears. He envisioned the castle, the strong stones withstanding the raging sea, keeping it away from the inhabitants, offering protection in an environment that was woefully void of it. George lost himself in the image, the crashing of the waves synchronized with his and Andi’s breathing; the walls stood strong, and the rooms within remained dry, untouched. And then he felt it.
A tug at his mind, so weak, barely there, he almost didn’t believe he’d felt it. It came again, stronger, more desperate. He turned toward it, kept his mind on the waves and the stones, the steady in and out washing through his thoughts, emptying them of meaning, until there was only the tug left. It felt like pincers in his soul; itwaspincers in his soul, small, crowned by eight eyes,another spider, the castle and the waves, they were overlayed by branches, crisscrossing in front of his sight, as if he were looking at the stones from behind it, far behind because the branches were huge, or was he just smaller? He felt something else, Andi, he would recognize him everywhere, he knew it; the crashing got louder, he felt water on his skin, dripping down the net; there was a net; the spider retreated a bit; Andi was wrapped around him, in him, not letting go, clinging to the castle while the spider clung to the net; three images, only one his own, blurring into one, and George knew he had to keep his mind strong and clear because he was just getting the echoes of Andi’s daily life, glimpses so weak they didn’t really count even if they threatened to drag him under just like the waves would do if he fell; there was some type of lizard, Komodo, he thought, that swam through the spume, always in danger of being smashed onto the rocks; they had to do it to feed; he needed to concentrate; Andi wanted to come back, to the castle, the stones, in and out; George started breathing more deeply, changing the rhythm, forcing Andi out of his pace and into George’s, yanking him back bit by bit, not letting go while the branches faded; the pincers let go of his soul, the spider went back to the recesses of the net, waiting for prey, and Andi was with him, groaning, burying his head into George’s chest, inhaling him like he was a cat and George catnip.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s easier when I’m already in the same bed with you.”
“It is. Please, let’s keep it that way.”
“Always.” George pressed the second kiss in their relationship on Andi’s head. It was as far from anything sexual as the first had been—they weren’t ready for that, not by a long shot, and to his own surprise, George was content to wait. He’d never been one to not scratch an itch when it occurred, but for Andi he was willing to wait. And he did have two healthy hands. He stroked Andi’s back until his partner straightened.
“I know you want to go running. I’m fine now. I’ll take care of breakfast.”
George lifted a brow.
“You know you want to go. You need to process, as do I. And I do have the recipe for that awful green slosh you like to drink. I can make it, promise.”
This time, George went for Andi’s lips. Soft, with a bit of stubble, rasping against his own, tasting of Andi and sleep and garlic. Perfection.
AFTER THEIRbreakfast—Andi did get the spinach-kale smoothie right, much to George’s surprise—they went to the precinct to discuss what Thomas LeClerk had told them with Geena and perhaps Gelman and to explain to Sandra and Tobias why they now had to go through the patient lists of House Cusabo to find out who of the male patients went to bee therapy and could be a potential suspect. Fun times. On the drive, they talked briefly about Andi’s suggestion that the bees might not have the same significance for the killer as they had for the victims and for them, that the man was perhaps simply pragmatic, seeking his victims for their accessibility, not for anything else, though the fact that they all had some kind of mental problem spoke against that part of the theory. Still, George kept it in the back of his head. Just because one part of an explanation didn’t fit didn’t mean the rest wasn’t accurate. He did agree with Andi that even if the beekeeper suit was just for safety reasons—to keep evidence contained—it didn’t change the direction they had to go, just the significance of part of the puzzle pieces.
Geena was already waiting for them, together with Gelman.
“Good morning, George, Andi. How did your meeting with LeClerk go?” She sounded chipper, while Gelman looked as if some coffee directly into the vein would be advisable. Tobias and Sandra weren’t at their desk, probably getting their morning shot of caffeine in the common room.
“Good morning, Geena, Luke. It was—interesting.” George went to his desk to put his jacket over the back of his chair. Andi held on to his herbal tea from Starbucks and managed to thump into his chair without any spillage. Oh, glorious day. “He admitted to having been in a relationship with her, providing her with the medication she needed, and that he reported her missing in the name of House Cusabo because he had hoped that would spur the police into action.”
“You don’t sound like he’s our killer. Why don’t you sound like he’s our killer?” A certain manic desperation crawled into Geena’s voice.
George steeled himself. This time, Andi wasn’t completely sure of LeClerk’s innocence because he couldn’t identify the killer clearly, but the man’s feelings for Kesha Raport had been convincing to George from an outside perspective and to Andi on a chemical basis. If he was the killer, their assessment of his personality was completely wrong, which did happen, even to experienced profilers, but not often. Still, no harm done making sure. He turned to Luke.
