Another snort. “Yeah. Shit.” He took a deep breath, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to talk to my boss. I’m going to tell her what you said, and tell her that you’re an old—an old friend of the suspect’s. And she’ll tell me that there’s absolutely no evidence of any damn thing and I need to keep my mouth shut and not stir up trouble, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“So that’s what I’ll do too.”
Hockley squinted at him. “And we’ll both just sit back and watch these guys go to jail for drugs they weren’t trafficking?”
“We sat back and watched themnotgo to jail for drugs theyweretrafficking. I’m not saying it’s a perfect system. But, I’ll be honest: I’m not going to lose sleep over this.”
“No,you’renot, because you’ve done all you can!”
Jericho leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the desk. Suddenly his beige polyester wasn’t quite so scratchy. “You’re in charge, Special Agent. Enjoy.”
The biker arrest was the biggest news Mosely had seen in a good while, and everybody seemed to have an opinion they wanted to share. Jericho ducked as much of the conversation as he could, spending more time than ever working out in the department gym or running through the mountain trails. If he was exhausted enough, he could usually have a beer in the shower when he got home and then fall asleep without torturing himself with thoughts of Wade Granger. He could usually forget the man’s cocky, maddening grin; his endless manipulations; the feel of his body hard and hot against Jericho’s—
Shit. He clearly needed to add to his running time.
But that didn’t end up working too well, because one evening about a week after the press conference, he was headed up his usual trail along the crest behind the high school, and he saw a too-familiar shape in black and gray leaning against a tree. Waiting for him.
Jericho slowed to a walk. He thought about turning around, but he’d be damned if he’d run away from Wade Granger. And maybe he wanted to know what the man had to say for himself. And maybe he was unable to resist temptation. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m enjoying nature. It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Jericho said, and kept walking. It would have been better if he’d never stopped running, probably. He should have breezed by with a nod or with nothing.
Wade fell in beside him. “You mad at me, Jay?”
“Mad? I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use.” He stumbled a little, then turned to look at the man beside him. “You mad atme, Wade? Is that what—” No, Wade had always taken joy in manipulating others. He was eager to drag Jericho into his games, to torture him, because he was a cop, not because—not because— “I left you here. Left you behind.”
Wade was walking faster now, keeping his eyes on the path in front of them. It seemed like he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he glanced over and said, “Fifteen years.” A quick, almost fragile smile. “I thought you were going to come back in about a week. I thought—most of the time, I thought—you were going to get out there in the real world and realize it was missing something. Something you fuckingneeded.”
“I asked you to come with me.” It sounded like he was making an excuse, and that made him mad. “You seriously thought I could stay here? With— Jesus, with all of it? You think I wouldn’t have turned out—” He caught himself, but it was too late. Wade always knew what Jericho was going to say before he said it.
“Turned out like me,” Wade said. His smile was hard. “I’m glad you’re happy with who you are, Jay. That’s nice.” He turned around and took a few steps back the way they’d come, then stopped and looked back at Jericho. “But while you’re living your righteous life, all respectable and proper? You should remember me. You should remember how it feels to have my hands on you, mymouthon you. You should remember me fucking you, and you fucking me, all the ways we took care of each other back when we were kids. You should ask yourself: if it was that perfect then, when we didn’t know what the hell we were doing, how much better would it be now?”
Jericho’s mouth was dry, and he knew it was a good sign that he shouldn’t say anything. But he’d never had much sense of self-preservation. “I do remember it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I do ask myself.”
Wade’s nod was slow. “Good,” he finally said, and then he started down the path again, but stopped maybe ten paces away. “You’re not so pure, Jay Crewe,” he called back. “And I’m not quite as far gone as you think.”
There was something burbling up inside Jericho, something that made no damn sense. But he knew what it was, and he was tired of lying to himself. Standing there in the forest, drenched in fast-cooling sweat and staring down at Wade fucking Granger, he felt an undeniable sense of hope. “Not that far gone?” he said. “Prove it!”
Wade looked back up at him, and after a moment’s thought, he gave Jericho a smile. A real, pure, affectionate grin. “Maybe I will,” he shouted, and he turned and headed out of the forest.
