“Were you making coffee?” Bishop extricated himself and heaved to his feet. “I’ll grab another mug.”
Bishop couldn’t help it. He wasn’t wired to let questions go, especially when those questions tangled with every protective instinct in his body. Kit’s very existence demanded answers. Meeting at a crime scene. The untraceable fake ID. Not using his social. The hit Darius and James were out handling at this very moment.
On paper, Kit was suspicious as fuck. But Bishop’s instincts told him Kit was the victim.
Even if Kit would viciously reject that label.
Bishop had to tread carefully, to avoid pushing Kit too hard for the sake of professional curiosity. He settled Kit in the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee, then moved his laptop out to the living room.
Professional curiosity. Bishop scoffed silently. There was nothing professional about that last moment with his arm around Kit. For one terrible, wonderful second, Bishop mistook Kit’s vulnerability for a different sort of neediness.
Maybe it wasn’t even a mistake. Maybe Kit really wanted to kiss him.
Bishop couldn’t offer him that kind of comfort. Especially not now, knowing this new piece of Kit’s past. Bishop had been right the time Kit crawled into his bed. He couldn’t touch Kit. Not while the kid was still so clearly fragile. Not before Bishop knew touching him wouldn’t shatter him like the broken mug on the kitchen floor.
No matter how much Bishop yearned to peer through the cracks. He needed to know he wasn’t taking advantage of Kit, just like Archie abusing the power of his badge.
Bishop couldn’t touch Kit, but he could get closer in another way.
His files on Kit hid in a password-protected folder separate from his professional cases. Today, Bishop opened the background file. The document was very sparse, and he hesitated before typing:According to subject, subject’s father is in prison.
According to subject, subject’s father is a child rapist.
Bishop saved and closed the background file, then opened his strategy document. This was a messier series of notes, Bishop’s random thoughts preserved in case something sparked an idea later. Various angles that might render partial answers.
Most were too extreme. Bishop didn’t have any evidence, or even any suspicion, of Kit committing serious crimes—besides the ones he was implicated in thanks to Bishop, James, and Darius. While Bishop’s SCPD friends could run Kit’s DNA through the criminal database for a familial match, that would involve calling in too big a favor. Drawing too much attention to Kit.
Bishop had run Kit’s fingerprints already. No matches.
He wasn’t about to do something desperate like ask Kit directly. Instead, he just typed:Search sex offender registries in CA and NV – currently incarcerated, w/ sons the right age.
That was a huge project, and Bishop needed more details to narrow it down. He wasn’t even sure about the state yet. He could wait for the details. His professional… interest aside, the situation wasn’t urgent.
Things would be different if Kit hadn’t said his father was in prison.
Bishop couldn’t let himself dwell on that. He couldn’t think about how many ways a man could hurt a child without touching them.
Exhaling, Bishop tore his eyes away from the laptop. The sight of Kit at his kitchen table was calming. Kit hunched over the case folders, rapt. Even exhausted from his panic attack, he looked better off than he had when Bishop first met him.
There had been something so off about Kit’s mannerisms when Bishop abducted him. Like Kit was going through the motions of being human. Like the most painful edges of his soul were muted.
Today was a good thing. Kit felt safe enough to lose control in front of Bishop.
Another idea tickled. Bishop tapped one more note into the strategy doc before closing the folder.
Investigate any incarcerated associates of Ed Addersen
32
the only choice
Darius was napping when the client—now the target—arrived. He and James took turns catching three-hour naps, and Darius had shut his eyes at 4 p.m. He was wide awake as soon as James said, “Darius.”
“Status?” Darius asked, already moving from the camp chair to the window.
James crouched next to his monitors, glued to the screens even as he holstered a gun under his jacket. “No rush. Single man, white, dark hair. Green baseball cap and a brown leather jacket. I’m not 100% sure he’s our guy, but this is the third time he’s circled the block.”
“Is he still out front?”
