“Tomorrow, you’re giving all the stolen data—and the analysis—back to Syntech,” Simon said. The hard edge in his voice was more for him than Jacob, although not much more. “After that you’re on your own.”
Jacob started to say something and then visibly changed his mind and closed his mouth.
“What?” Simon asked shortly. He wasn’t sure if he was more irritated by the thought of Jacob begging, or the thought that he might give in.
“I told you I was going to see my sister over Christmas,” Jacob said. “So I’m not going to be on my own.”
Simon stared at him for a second and then rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Jacob, you really want to lead people you think might have killed a man home to your family?”
“You havenotmet my sister,” Jacob said dryly. Then he added, still from his prone position, “And neither will they. I know how to disappear, Simon.”
“I noticed,” Simon said. “Short-term leases, no friends, nothing you actually care about—you don’t leave much of a mark on the world, Jacob. If you hadn’t gotten away from those two men last night, would anyone have ever noticed?”
Jacob asked, “My sister? My lawyer?”
“Two whole people,” Simon said. “Congratulations.”
He turned to grab the remote from the TV stand and thumbed the worn-down-to-pink power button to make the screen flicker to life with a rerun ofThe Big Bang Theory.
As Sheldon ran gawkily across the screen, Jacob added quietly, “You.”
He glanced over with a frown pinched tightly between his eyebrows. “What?”
Jacob shoved a hand through his dishwater-blond hair. His fingers caught in knots of sweat and blood, and he looked uncomfortable. “You,” he repeated. His mouth twisted into a crooked smile, and the scab on his lower lip cracked. “You’d have noticed.”
Except he wouldn’t have. Jacob could have been rotting in a shallow grave, and Simon would have gone on cursing him until there was nothing left of him but bones. It wasn’t a good thought.
“Dead or running,” Simon said, denying Jacob that third person. “How was I meant to tell the difference, and why would I care?”
If there was an answer that would make him feel better, apparently Jacob didn’t know it either. He just sighed and waved a hand at the beds. “You care which bed I take?”
“You’re going to sleep?”
Taking that as a no, Jacob gingerly stripped his shirt off. His ribs were dappled with bruises that ranged from pale blue to nearly black and blood blisters that looked raw where whoever had worked him over had worn rings.
“I’m tired,” he said. “There’s a bed. Unless you have something else in mind….”
Jacob pointedly yanked the covers back and sprawled out over the mattress. He draped his arm over his eyes, and his fingers curved around the point of his jaw. For someone Simon had seen nod off while lying on a stone wall, it took him a long time to actually get to sleep. He shifted and fidgeted, sighed and groaned as he tried to find some comfortable way to lie.
Despite his best intentions, Simon studied him. He knew the curve of muscle that led from Jacob’s ribs up into his shoulders, the snorting snore than Jacob denied he’d ever made, and the way he kicked in his sleep.
And what, Simon wondered dryly as he sat down on the end of his bed,hadhe seen in Jacob again?
It was half an hour later and halfway into an episode ofCopswhen Jacob twitched awake and pretended he hadn’t. Simon glanced away from a meth head swearing at a police dog and watched Jacob do his best impression of a sleeping person. It wasn’t bad, if you were someone who’d never woken up to a heel in the shins from your lover.
“You okay?” Simon asked, after a minute.
It took a second, but finally Jacob ducked his chin in a quick nod. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his voice dry and scratchy. He didn’t look it as he panted miserably into the crook of his arm and sweat soaked the sheets under him.
Simon tossed the remote aside, got up, and shifted beds. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Jacob lifted his arm enough to scowl. “I’mfine.”
“Yeah. You look it.” Simon put his hand on Jacob’s shoulder and felt the heat of his sweat slick under his palm. “Have you ever seen anyone die before?”
After a sullen pause, Jacob shifted his arm back until it was tucked behind his head. “Die? Yeah,” he said. “My grandmother had a heart attack at Thanksgiving, and my dad told God he was sorry he’d said there was nothing to be thankful for that year.”
Simon eyed him dubiously. “Is that true?”
“Sadly enough, yeah.” A wry smile curved Jacob’s mouth and then faded. “My dad’s an asshole. Surprise, right? When I’m such a prize?”
