LATER, HE’Dask himself about how he and Brady had spent that day together.
Yes, some of it had been in bed, and the time had beenhighlypleasurable, dreamy, almost too perfect.
They’d spent an hour lingering over breakfast and coffee, and another taking a brisk walk around the housing project, both the finished and unfinished units, talking. Not about the bank job, or what had happened to the crew, or what Brady was going to do now—and Eric appreciated the effort he must have made to not ask that question thirty times a minute, but he hadn’t.
Instead, they’d talked about books—Eric liked fiction, Brady liked biographies—and music—Eric liked alt rock, Brady was a fan of country—and movies. They both loved action/adventure/shoot-em-up-and-kill-em-all, and somewhere in there was a promise to treat each other to a John Wick marathon after “all this was over.”
Eric refrained from telling Brady that John Wick really was a biography from Eric’s point of view; he figured he’d spare the poor man that.
It was courtship talk, getting-to-know-you talk, and the only thing that bothered Eric about it was that it seemed to be promising things that Eric wasn’t sure he could deliver. It promised a lazy day to watch movies and pet the kittens. It promised more walks while they shot the shit. It promised a chance for Brady to take Eric to a car show so he could see what all the shouting was about.
It promised a future when Brady didn’t feel compelled to track Eric down and imprison him after he discovered who Eric really was.
It promised that the two of them would live long enough for that truth to actually come out.
So many promises in such a few hours—if Eric hadn’t already won the argument to do whatever he could to keep the biggest promise of all, he might still have bolted.
Of course lunch with Ernie and Burton would have put a stop to that right quick, but Eric had already committed.
It was fun to watch Brady’s face as he took in the house with the clear brick half-walls and the cats lying on every available surface. He endeared himself to Ernie forever by finding a corner of the “cat room” so he could reacquaint himself with the kittens, and while he was doing that, Burton pulled Eric aside.
“How’s he doing?”
“Enjoying his cruise down the Nile,” Eric said frankly. It had been far too easy to put Brady’s questions off.
Burton nodded. “Fair enough. How long do you think you can keep screwing him into submission?”
“Lee!” Ernie hissed, elbowing his lover in the side. “That’s not nice!”
“It’s important,” Burton muttered, rubbing his ribs. “Right now, it is all hands on deck with the sheriff’s office. The lead bank robber died last night, and you would have thought he was the love child of Mother Teresa and Ghandi, the way those assholes are going on about the rogue cop who used undue force on a patient.”
“That’scrap!” Eric growled. There had been plenty of time for Jai’s boyfriend, George, to fill everybody in on the conversation he’d overheard between Brady and Fucker 1 before Brady had taken off. “We have two witnesses!”
“Yes, we do,” Burton said. “But we need to keep them off record unless shit gets dire, or we’ll be protecting George and Amal too.”
Eric nodded and swallowed. He’d finally had a chance tomeetJai’s boyfriend at Ace’s while they’d been putting together what to do after Brady picked up his vehicle. He understood Jai’s protectiveness now—everybody’s protectiveness—over the two nurses. As far as the others were concerned, the most illegal thing George and Amal got to do was to treatthem, if they screwed up and got hurt. Ernie had confessed quietly that the two of them ran clinics for anybody afraid of the government or law enforcement for any reason, but mostly for immigrants terrified of being inhumanely deported. Like Brady, Eric had thought. Not helpless, but not made for fighting dirty either.
“So at least we know what they’re going to blame him for,” Eric said, letting out a sigh. “What we need to know—really—iswhy. Brady thinks it’s because they called his aunt and uncle, and they let out the big gay secret, but I don’t think the local constabulary is that bright. That would takeeffortand investigation, and I don’t think they’d throw themselves into it like that.”
“Ace thinks it has something to do with the Kuntz brothers,” Burton said, and for a moment, Eric’s brain shorted out.
“Who?”
Burton scowled at him like he was being obtuse. “That preacher guy and his cop brother who liked to make and share dirty pictures?”
Eric’s stomach roiled. “Oh—yes. Of course.” He remembered Brady’s panicked, blurty conversation as they were standing outside of Ace’s garage, watching the sunset. “Brady’s been trying to get Sheriff Cuthbert to investigate it, but Cuthbert’s been balking. Brady is pretty sure that’s why they decided to… well, not back him up. Cuthbert is hiding something.”
Burton scowled. “Well, heis, butweall know he’s not hiding the murderer. He’s hiding the reason they were murdered.Thatat least should become common knowledge, you think?”
Eric nodded. “I’ll ask him about how to do that tonight,” he said. “You’re right. If none of it hit the press, it’s being covered up, and secrets like that kill.”
“Absolute poison until they’re exposed,” Burton confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, then. You two figure out what you have to do to expose the secret, and we meet for breakfast tomorrow to figure out how to get that done.”
“But first….” Ernie glared at Burton meaningfully, and the big man looked abashed.
“But first, Ernie has actually cooked abrisketand baked bread and bought fresh vegetables from a farmer’s market in Palm Springs,” Burton muttered, looking hunted. “He would love for us all to sit down and enjoy lunch.”
“And leftovers,” Ernie added before fidgeting. “I, uhm… I’m nervous. So I cook.”
