“I never said that you would. And at first, I thought they made Nikki abadchoice as someone to trust, because if she ever got busted, she’d say whatever she had to, tell the cops any secrets she could think of, to get out and back to the kids.” Jericho took a drink, his gut tightening pleasantly at the way Wade was watching him. Expectant. Intrigued. “But you’ve worked your way into their lives, haven’t you? You’re turning into a damn father figure. So if Nikki gets caught for something? She might rat out other people, but she won’t say a word against Uncle Wade, not while Uncle Wade’s the one on the outside, taking care of the kids she loves.”
Wade was quiet for a while, and then he said, “I do actually like the kids.” But he said it like an addition, not a contradiction.
“So you’ve brought in two big shipments while the bikers are running around like idiots, trying to figure out why the Chicago crew is attacking them, trying to deal with whatever other seeds you’ve sown—like Mike’s decision to start agitating for leadership of the gang. But they haven’t totally self-destructed, have they? Not yet, at least. They didn’t attack the Chicago crew with all those cops buzzing around, not like you encouraged Mike to do.” He took a drink and watched as Wade’s half smile served as a subtle confirmation of their truth. “Jesus, Wade, you’re playing with people’s lives.”
“It’s the way of the world. Sometimes bad things happen to—well, in this case, the bad things happened to bad people. So I’m not going to get too upset about it.”
“And the three dead wiseguys?” Jericho demanded. He was ready to take his pet theory out for a walk. “The bikers killed them, but Chicago hasn’t really retaliated; even if they set the fires, a damn building fire doesn’t make up for three deaths. And I have my doubts about the building fire. So instead of a real retaliation we’ve got a few wiseguys in town not doing much. The bikers think there are more, but that’s because you’ve told them there are more, right? I’m still trying to figure out why therehasn’tbeen a real retaliation from Chicago—you got anything you want to tell me on that front?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny any of your outrageous conjectures. But I am enjoying the story you’re telling. I truly am.” Wade stepped closer. “Do you know that when you get passionate about something, your skin flushes? Not a lot. But I’m good at noticing things about you. It starts on your face, and spreads down your neck.” He reached out and ran his fingers through the air, two or three inches from Jericho’s body, to show the path he was talking about. “And then it’s interesting. How it conforms to the same pattern as the hair on your chest. Wide across the top—” and his hand was a little closer, now, close enough that Jericho could almost feel it “—and then it narrows into a thin line as it goes lower. Down over your belly, all that warm skin, and then down—” He looked up, his expression serious. “In the name of science, Jay, I think you should take off your pants and let me see how much farther it goes.”
God help him, Jericho was truly tempted. But he made himself snort, and it sounded pretty good, only a little breathy at the end. “I hadn’t realized you were interested in science.” He took two big swallows of beer, emptying the bottle, and then said, “The bikers killed the wiseguys. Not you. But they killed them because Chicago asked them to. Right?”
“How would I know about any of that?”
“Of course you wouldn’t know. But just in theory—what would make Chicago want three of their guys dead? Why would that happen?”
“In theory?” Wade’s expression was hard to read, but Jericho knew what was going on. Wade wanted to show off. Wanted toplay. “I can only imagine what conflict there must be within a criminal organization like that. I wonder if there was some sort of problem with—I don’t know, maybe an information leak? Maybe one of the soldiers was talking to the cops, and the brass wasn’t sure exactly who it was?” Wade’s shrug was exaggerated. “This is the kind of thingyou’dknow about, Under-sheriff. It’s not my area.”
An informant. Damn, it made sense. “So Chicago sent them out here, the bikers took care of them, and you let us think it was part of a fucking turf war so we’d worry about what they were up to instead of worrying whatyouwere up to.”
“And what is it that I was up to, again?”
“Bringing two big shipments across the border. Big enough that the Canadian cops knew about it and tipped us off. Maybe we could have done something about them if we’d been paying attention. You had the bikers tricked into thinking therewastrouble with Chicago, even though they killed the guys by request, so they took their little tour and threw us off.”
“And I did this the last two nights? That’s what you’re saying? You’re forgetting about how you and I were together on the first one of those nights? I couldn’t have been up at the border, because I was in Nikki’s kitchen, with you.” Wade stepped closer. God, he was beautiful.And a criminal.
Jericho stepped away. “Yeah, that night you were with me, and Nikki was at the border. The next night, Nikki was out on the town, making sure she was noticed, and you were at the border. You’re about the same height, and you both wore some ridiculous yellow slicker to make it look like you were the same person. I mean, seriously, Wade, who wears a yellow slicker in the Montana woods? You don’t think that was overkill?”
“Are you giving fashion advice, now? That’s kind of you.”
“Where does it go from here?” Jericho lifted his bottle, remembered it was empty, and set it on the counter behind him. Damn, he’d let Wade back him up that far? He was all the way into the kitchen, with no more room to retreat. And possibly no willpower to resist if Wade came in any closer.
“Maybe another beer?” Wade suggested. “Maybe fewer clothes?”
“Not where doesthisgo from here! Where does yourplan for the bikersgo from here?”
“Oh, that.” Wade shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll take care of itself. In the meantime I’m thinking of taking a little vacation. I happened to hear that an old friend of mine just lost his job, and I thought maybe he’d like to do something with me. We could go hiking, or fishing, or—” he cut his eyes toward the bedroom with a too-obvious leer “—or we could stay in.”
Jericho ordered his body to ignore the hint of a growl in Wade’s voice. “What are you up to? Are you— Fuck, Wade, are you doing your fucking reverse-psychology thing? You want me to go somewhere so you’re acting like you want me to stay? Or is it another double reverse, and really you want me to stay?”
“Why don’t we focus on the ‘want you’ part, and ignore the rest of it?” Wade didn’t move any closer, but his face softened almost imperceptibly, lost the polished sheen of his façade. “Don’t you ever wish it could just be you and me again? Just us, without all the complications? This could be our chance. You’re not a cop right now, and I’m—” He shrugged. “To the best of my knowledge, I’m not currently doing anything illegal.”
Jericho bit back a sound that was half snort, half something that was far too close to a giggle. Damn, he was keyed up.
Wade’s smile was sweetly familiar. “You knew I wasn’t going to tell you about business, so there’s no bugs in the apartment. Nobody listening. Nobody around. Just you, and just me.”
And then he moved closer and ran the back of his knuckles along the line of hair on Jericho’s belly. Jericho’s abs contracted, almost a shiver, and goose bumps rose. Wade’s scent was in his nose, and he gripped the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles ached. He was breathing too fast, and it was making things worse, with each breath bringing more of Wade into his lungs, his body.
I planned this, he realized in that distant part of his brain still capable of coherent thought. Wade was right. There’d been nothing to gain by having this confrontation; he’d known Wade wouldn’t make a confession, not in any way that could be used against him. Wade hadn’t been the only one who’d wanted to play, and to show off.
But Wade was even closer now, his expression was . . . wrong, somehow. It was too cold, the teasing warmth vanished as if it had never been there. Jericho shivered, suddenly feeling exposed.
“You’ve got it all figured out,” Wade said quietly. “But you haven’t told anyone else, yet. You didn’t want to do that until you were sure you were right. You’ve got a list of felonies you think I’ve committed or conspired to commit, and you and I are the only ones who know about any of it. And as long as you don’t leave this apartment, things will stay that way.”
Jericho couldn’t speak. His throat was too tight, but even if he’d managed to force some sound out, he didn’t have any words. Wade. It was Wade, his old friend, his old lover. Wade the career criminal, the man who’d probably already killed one Crewe over business. And Jericho was half-naked, his gun safely stowed in the drawer beside his bed across the room.
“You’re thinking now, Jericho,” Wade said. No heat in his voice but no warmth either. “You’re realizing how vulnerable you are.” He reached calmly under his jacket, and when his hand reappeared it was holding a Beretta 9mm. His grip was loose and casual, the barrel pointed at the floor, but in Jericho’s general direction. Wade kept his eyes locked with Jericho’s. “Two shots. That’s more than I need, and it’s easy to get away with. Your neighbors will hear, but they won’t be able to pinpoint the source of the noise. If they call the police—well, you tell me, Under-sheriff. How fast will the sheriff’s department respond to the possibility that maybe somebody fired a gun somewhere in town—or maybe there was a backfire, or someone was playing the TV too loud?”
