Sergei and Ilya Volkov, Yakov Korotkii, Alexi Gurevich.
He needed to do some research on the players, or utilize Abigail’s research. He imagined anything that was or could be known about them was in her files. And in her head.
Marshals Cosgrove and Keegan—same deal.
A dirty cop earned a cell shared by those he’d sent over, in Brooks’s opinion. A dirty cop who killed another cop for profit or gain? There was a special circle of hell reserved for them. He wanted a part in putting Cosgrove and Keegan dead center of that circle.
He had some ideas, yeah, a few ideas, on that. He wanted to chew on them some, do that research, let it all sift around. After a dozen years, a few days, even weeks, of studying and formulating wouldn’t hurt. And he expected she’d need some of that time to adjust to the new situation. He’d need it to convince her to let him do what needed to be done, once he’d settled on exactly what that would be.
For now, he figured the best thing would be to cart her on up to bed. They could both sleep on it awhile.
He got up, started to lift her. And she kneed him dead in the balls.
He swore he felt them tickle his throat, then stick there when her elbow jabbed his larynx. He felt his own eyes roll up and back as he dropped like a stone. Airless.
“Oh God, oh God! Brooks. I’m sorry.”
Since the only sound he could make was a wheeze, he gave it up after one attempt. He’d just lie there for the moment, maybe forever.
“I must have fallen asleep. You startled me.” She tried to turn him over, brushed his hair from his face. The dog lickedit sympathetically. “Can you breathe? Are you breathing? You’re breathing.”
He coughed, and that burned like fire to match the inferno raging in his crotch. “Shit,” he managed, and coughed again.
“I’m going to get you water and ice. Just take slow breaths.”
She must have told the dog to stay with him, as Bert lay down so they were eye to eye. “What the fuck?” When that hissed out of him, Bert licked his face again.
He managed to swallow, then roll cautiously to his hands and knees. He stayed there another moment, wondering if he’d complete the cycle and puke. He’d made it to sitting on the floor, stomach contents intact, when Abigail rushed back in with the cold pack and a glass of water.
“Don’t you put that on my balls. It’s bad enough.” He took the water, and though the first couple of sips ripped like drinking broken razor blades, the rawness slowly eased. “What the fuck?” he said again.
“It was reflex. I’m so sorry. You’re so pale. I’m so sorry. I fell asleep, and I was back there, at Alexi’s. Ilya found me, and…I think you touched me, and I thought it was Ilya, so I reacted.”
“I’ll say. God help him if he tries for you. We may never have kids now.”
“A minor insult of this kind to the genitalia doesn’t affect fertility,” she began, then looked away. She went considerably pale herself. “I’m very sorry,” she repeated.
“I’ll live. Next time I start to carry you up to bed, I’ll wear a cup. Now you may have to carry me.”
“I’ll help you.” She kissed him gently on the cheek.
“I’d say that’s not where it hurts, but if you kiss me where it does and I have the normal reaction, it may kill me.” He waved her away, pushed to his feet. “It’s not so bad.” He cleared his throat, winced.
“I’ll help you upstairs.”
“I’ve got it. I’m just going to…check things out. For my own peace of mind.”
“All right. I’ll let Bert out before I come up.”
When she came up, he’d stripped down to his boxers but stood by her monitor, studying it.
“Is everything…um.”
“Yeah. That’s some aim you’ve got, killer.”
“It’s a particularly vulnerable area in a man.”
“I can attest. I’m going to want you to show me how this system works sometime soon. How you switch from view to view, zoom in, pan out and so on.”
