I cupped his cheek. “Stay safe.”
He averted his gaze and bit his lip. “Sorry, I...”
I could have kicked myself for being so serious and making him feel as if he’d done something wrong. To lighten the mood, I said, “Don’t make me put on my black cloak.”
He laughed. When Joel started laughing with him, they were right back to how I had found them when I first arrived.
Elliot stayed another hour, and when he left, I followed him home to make sure he got there safely. As I was driving home, I saw the shadows move across the sidewalk like black smoke rolling through town. The Bureau was already searching for him.
I called Cael, who answered on the first ring. Before he could say a word, I started talking. “They’re here, searching for him.”
“Better call the others. Tell them to meet at your house.” There was a faint sound of a door closing before Cael spoke again. “I’ll grab Elliot and bring him back to your house.”
“I should be the one to go get him.” That I wasn’t felt like a mistake.
“Demons could be following you. You don’t want to lead them straight to him. Make them work for it as long as possible.” Cael was right. He wasn’t on the demons’ radar the way I was because he hadn’t been the one to take the contract.
“Wait until morning.”
“Do we have that much time?”
“Yes. They don’t know who he is yet. We have the time to let him get a good night’s rest.”
“Right. Okay.”
“Bring him to me unharmed, Cael.” Cael could be a bit of a brute at times.
“Fuck you. You know I’d never hurt him.” His epilogue to that was a growled expletive.
“See that you don’t.” Anyone who tried to hurt him would have to go through me first.
Chapter Eleven
Elliot
Iwasn’t usually a paranoid or anxious person. But apparently I needed to be, because I didn’t see the guy until he stood in Gary Hopkins’s kitchen.
Gary Hopkins was a sassy old man I lucked into taking care of on Sundays and Tuesdays. He was in a wheelchair most of the time, though he didn’t need one. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone he could walk because he liked being pushed around. He fell sometimes, so a wheelchair was safer for him.
He had round-the-clock care as of a couple of months ago. Lung cancer was a bitch. That was all I was saying.
He was my neighbor and one of my best friends, as I mentioned earlier. I applied for a job helping older adults and got lucky when they assigned me to Gary. I was only paid to help him two days a week, but I went over there every day. Sometimes he’d call and have me wheel him over if he saw me heading to my workshop.
On the day when all that terrible shit went down, we were working together on my client’s table. Gary insisted on helping,so I gave him something to do. He taught me something new all the time, so it was a win for both of us.
“I used to be a carpenter.” He stopped sanding and gazed at the ceiling as if his memories hung from the rafters. I’d heard him tell the story a thousand times already. I never said a word. I just let him have his moment. I smiled when he changed the year from the last time he’d told me. “Nineteen forty-six to nineteen sixty-eight. I was a young buck back then. I followed my granddad around like a puppy, and he put me to work. Taught me everything.”
I made sure there was a chair nearby for Gary. He might have wanted to help, but he grew tired. He did a damn fine job, paying close attention to the details, especially when he sanded. Hell, he did a better job than I did, which was why I appreciated him and didn’t mind him in my space. He was an asset and deserved to be paid for his work, though he wouldn’t accept the praise or my money. He was a prickly bastard about that.
But he sat in the chair I’d placed next to him so he could take all the breaks he wanted. Hell, he could have just sat there and done nothing but chat me up, and I would have been happy.
“Cancer sucks.” He shook his head and took a moment to catch his breath.
Yeah, cancer really did. “You’re gonna beat it.”
He scowled. Usually, he wouldn’t say anything after I said that, but I knew he didn’t believe it. He still needed to hear it, so he’d keep fighting. But he changed his mind and spoke up. “No, I’m not either.” His tone was somber, not sad. It carried an undercurrent of resignation.
I stopped what I was doing, carried a chair over, and sat so we faced each other. “Do you need a pep talk, old man?”
