“Sonny refurbished a Kia for him,” Brady said, remembering that rather sweet exchange. “Do they do that a lot?”
Eric let out a breath. “Who am I talking to?” he asked carefully. “The cop or the friend?”
And that was enough to tell Bradyeverything. “You’re talking to a guy who’s not going to care if the VINs are changed up and the registration is forged,” he answered dryly. “Cannoneof these people drive a legal vehicle?”
Eric flashed him a quick grin. “Ace, buthiscar—”
“Is the illegal street racer,” Brady filled in dryly. “Irony in the Desert, my posthumous biography.”
“You should start working on your pseudonym now,” Eric told him, but Brady saw his lips twist and thought maybe they were okay.
Ace glanced up at them and called “Sonny, me and Jai are gonna go talk in the house, okay? George, you okay out here?”
“I love to spend my Sunday mornings at the cashier stand, Ace,” George retorted. “You should know that by now.”
Ace shot him a quick grin in obvious appreciation for his sarcasm and said, “Youlike to spend your days off goinghiking in Tehachapi in winter. I don’t knowwhatweirdness turns your key, but if Jai can love you for it, I’ll accept your kinks.”
George chortled, and Jai threw his head back and belly laughed, the sound belting out and ringing through the garage. Even Sonny snickered, the sound echoing from the mechanic’s pit at their feet.
Eric smiled and went to follow the two of them into the house—which looked to be crowded given the extra cars in front, including one bright red convertible Maserati Brady hadn’t seen yet—while Brady hung back.
Ace must have sensed his hesitation because he turned sharply. “Officer Carnegie, not to put too fine a point on it, but youarethe reason for this here meeting.”
Brady nodded and gave George a quick smile. “I just wanted to thank Nurse Carmichael for his help Friday.”
George winked. “No thanks necessary, sir.” Then he sobered. “I’m sorry about how things turned out. Amal and I were both off when your witness died, but I’ve got a friend at the ME’s who can tell me what happened next week.”
Wow. Brady hadn’t even thought of that. “I think the coroner is a friend of Cuthbert’s,” he began apologetically, but George shook his head.
“Yes, but the medical examiner reports to the county DA. I get that there’s sort of a corruption network going on here, but the ME’s office is pretty clean, and the DA is under alotof scrutiny. So as scary as the sheriff’s office can make things, there are ways around Arlen Cuthbert, you hear me?”
Brady nodded, and it occurred to him that what the sweet-faced nurse was talking about wasnetworkingandchannels.
He wasn’t talking about shooting his way through the ME’s office for justice.
“Thanks,” he said weakly. “That’s good to know.”
“Have faith,” George said, his voice soft as he gave the three men heading for the little house a quick glance. “You know there’s bad guys with badges, but you’re here, and that means there’s good guys with them too. And you know that sometimes the cowboy with the black hat is the one with the best intentions. You’re alive because you thought outside the law enforcement box. We can keep you that way, but you’ve got to trust us for the same reasons, okay?”
Brady nodded. “You, uhm, seem to know a lot about what I’m thinking.”
George shrugged. “That giant bald guy with the terrifying laugh? He’s one of the best, kindest men I know. But if you ever tracked down all his aliases to see his real rap sheet, he’d probably give you nightmares.”
Brady swallowed, remembering Jai clutching the chicken stick as Eric jumped in the back of the sedan. And heremembered George and Amal plotting to get him out of the hospital so the people who wanted Brady dead would never know he was there.
“I’ve got enough nightmare fuel as it is,” he decided. “And plenty to do without adding that to my list.”
George gave a satisfied smile. “See? You’re going to fit in just fine!”
Maybe he would. With a little wave, Brady turned toward the house and started to jog toward the three men who had saved his life.
Until he saw anything different, he was going to have to trust that hadn’t been a fluke.
Once in the house, he took off his cross-trainers and left them against the kitchen wall/entryway, where they joined several other pairs of enormous shoes to fill.
The kitchen table had donuts and bagels on it, complete with a schmear bar and some lunch meat and vegetables for bagel sandwiches, and there were three kinds of donuts, including the strawberry kind Ernie had made for Brady two days before. Brady paused to grab a plate—one donut, one bagel with schmear—before joining the others in the living room, where they’d arrayed themselves on a futon, a stuffed chair, and on the floor.
Brady recognized almost everybody—Burton, Ernie, Jai, Eric, and Ace—but there were two men he hadn’t seen. One was obviously military. Late thirties, maybe closer to forty, with dark hair threaded with silver, and tired eyes. The man was still handsome, and Burton sat next to him on the futon, both of them obviously refraining from manspreading out of decorum. At their feet, cross-legged as only the young and lithe could manage, sat Ernie and another young man. This one was, well,quitefit, but also almost ethereally beautiful, with enormous haunted brown eyes and an angel’s mouth. If this was the oft-mentioned Cotton, Brady could see why Eric had been without words for him. That was alotof beauty to manage.
