Burton had been standing by Eric’s bed for this, and he’d murmured, “Well, it’s better than the last time Ace was hurt.”
“Better?” Eric asked.
“Oh yeah. Last time Ace was down like this, I had tostealthe sedative and inject it in him before he knew it was coming.” Burton grimaced. “But don’t tell Ace that—he wouldn’t know. He was in surgery at the time.”
Eric watched Sonny—asleep now next to Ace’s bed, clutching the hand without the IV while Ace wandered in and out of consciousness—and thought of the victims on Arlen Cuthbert’s phone who might have ended up just like Sonny. They might still, he thought sadly, if they didn’t get any help, but now…. God, now, thanks to Ace, to Burton, to Jai, to Brady, toall of them, there would be no more victims on that phone.
It was such a small thing, such a small drop of hope in a vast desert of despair, but like the desert itself, it only took a little bit of rain to sustain life.
And it was with that thought that he began to see what held this little band of heroes together.
“So hey,” Burton said, pulling him from his thoughts, “a couple of points of business. First, here.” And with that he pulled a furniture catalog from his back pocket. “We’ll have your house hooked up in two weeks. You’re going to be recovering at Jai and George’s place, along with Jai, and you’ll have two nurses there to change bandages and keep an eye on infection and such. Let me know what you’ll need to order that—”
“There’s a lockbox in my trailer,” he said, and gave directions to the special compartment under the closet. Burton had recovered the trailer the day after they’d abandoned it and reported that their little patch of duct tape and cardboard had kept all fanged, furry, or feathered intruders at bay. He’d moved it to behind Ace and Sonny’s garage, and Dimitri had been keeping an eye out for it while he’d served customers and taken care of the dog.
“That reminds me,” Burton said, after writing down the combination for the lockbox so it didn’t detonate, “is thereanything else you want out of there? I was thinking—that Dimitri guy is gonna need a place to live when Ace and Sonny get back home. Since you were ready to abandon it and all….”
Eric felt a little pang then, remembering how excited he’d been to put all his earthly belongings in the camper and justgo, away from his old life, away from his job, his reputation, the blood on his hands.
He was beginning to see that you couldn’t walk away from the blood on your hands. You could only make them clean by deeds.
And of all the people here, he had the least to lose and the most to give away.
“Of course,” he said. “But, uhm, first, I’ve got a couple of weapons caches and a lot of incriminating evidence that I’d appreciate you hiding.”
“Sure, sure,” Burton said, handing him the pad and the pen. “Write it down, and I’ll stash it in my office safe.”
Eric hadn’t seen one on the tour—but then, he had no doubt it was there.
“Uhm, you wouldn’t happen to remember the name of your installer, would you?” he asked tentatively.
“The US military,” Burton said. “Covert ops division. I’ll have them set you up for free.”
Eric chuckled as he wrote down his information and took the catalog. “What’s the bare minimum,” he muttered, almost to himself. He’d needed alotof blood—and a lot of antibiotics, considering the wound had already started to burn with infection by the time he’d passed out. George had saved his life and Ace’s with the jimmy-rigged IVs—apparently Ace had stocked tubing, IV needles, IV antibiotics, and instructions for making saline solution in his first aid kit, probably because he might have needed such things in the past. Eric had dimmemories of being hooked up to a collapsible water bottle and wondering if he was in hell, but the apparatus had worked.
And here he was, planning for a future. Planning for a community. Planning to put down roots.
Well, why wouldn’t he? These people had proved loyal and true and unafraid of who he was, all of him.
Home. It had been a while.
“Bedroom set,” Burton suggested. “Couch, coffee table, TV, easy chair. Kitchen table, chairs, and some cooking equipment. Sheets and bedding. Mattress. Maybe a desk for the study. You can do guest room shit later.”
“I’ve got a studyanda guest room,” Eric said, bemused. “Cool. Get me my spare phone from my lockbox, and my credit cards in this identity, and I’m good.”
“Can do.”
Burton made to leave, but Eric stopped him, suddenly wondering about his new community. “How’s Ernie?” he asked softly.
“Asleep.” Burton gave an exhausted smile. “He wakes up for an hour, eats, pets the cats—yours included—cries, takes some painkillers for his head, goes back to sleep. Last time we did something like this, he was out for a couple of days.”
Eric swallowed. “It’s hard on him.”
Burton nodded. “It is. But it was harder on him alone. You’ll know he’s good when he sets a big plate of fried chicken in your lap, with chips and corn and lemonade. He’s been planning that meal in his sleep.”
Eric’s eyes burned. “He’s a good kid.”
Burton laughed and bent down, catching Eric’s eyes. “That kid shot a guy through a Plexiglas window two days ago, then disposed of the body. George shot too, and he cleaned up the blood. Ain’t none of us angels, new fish, just like you.”
