“Good.”
“You’re meant to say ‘me too, Simon.’”
“I know,” Jacob said. He pulled up an empty window and typed a string of numbers into the address bar. “I ain’t gonna.”
Simon squeezed the tight cord of muscle at the back of Jacob’s neck. The habit of touch wanted to drag Jacob’s head back so he could kiss him and slant his mouth across parted lips. It was more the ache in Simon’s back than any willpower that stopped him.
After a second Jacob sighed. “I should have kept my mouth shut. Like I said, not my business.”
“Almost right. Not yourproblem.” He slid his hand up and buried his fingers in the short scruff of hair. “Not kissing you this afternoon wasn’t easy, Jake. I need to give in on something, I guess.”
Jacob gave the half snort that the use of a nickname always dragged out of him and leaned back into Simon’s touch, like a cat. “I’d be better for your liver.”
“Not the organ I’m worried about.”
He didn’t wait for Jacob’s response. It’d be the wrong one. It was Jacob. So he just gave his blond head a lazy shove and got up.
Simon smelled of blood and sweat, with the bitter undertone of adrenaline souring on his skin. “I’m going to shower and get changed,” he said. “If Dev gets here before I’m done, he might try to punch you. Don’t take it personally.”
He put the whiskey in the cupboard before he went, shoved to the back behind the balsamic vinegar and the olive oil. Jacob held his tongue, and Simon wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted or not.
THE WHITEscars on his shoulder looked like a net, pulled tightly and painfully over the swollen, bruised joint. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror after his shower, Simon could almost see the throb of pain keeping time with the pulse of his heart. He gingerly poked the tender skin with his other hand and clenched his jaw against the wave of sick dizziness that hit him. It was back in its joint, more or less, and—he flexed his fingers and lifted his elbow, wincing as it stalled at closer to seventy degrees than ninety—it worked, more or less.
Simon closed his eyes and tried to expel the frustration on his exhale. His shoulder was a mess. It was more likely to get worse than better, and that was the new normal he had to accept. Like it or not.
Wet hair straggled over his forehead in a dark, dripping tangle. He shoved it back with one hand as water ran down the back of his neck, and he brushed his fingers along his jaw. Stubble rasped against his fingertips, but a shave would have to wait until the next day.
Or the day afterward, depending on how his arm fared overnight. He grabbed a pack of anti-inflammatories from the cabinet and was popping pills out of the foil when his phone buzzed in the bedroom.
He hitched a towel up around his waist and dry swallowed the pills on his way to grab the phone from the bedside table. There was no number on the screen.
“Yeah,” he said. He frowned when he saw the dog lying on the bed. Fozzy stared back at him with beady black eyes and then pointedly shuffled around to turn his back on Simon.
He got a staccato address briskly recited into his ear. It wasn’t in San Antonio, but it was close enough. There was a pause, and then Hayes added, “You owe me twice. Someone didn’t make it easy to track Lau down.”
Niceties weren’t as valuable as debts in their line of work—Simon’soldline of work—but vanity was universal. He could hear the smugness on Hayes’s end of the line, and it got him a shred more information.
“They weren’t expecting anyone to look from inside. Looks like he’s working for the US now.”
The line went dead.
Huh. That debt was going to bankrupt him when it got called, but it was worth it. Lauhadbeen headhunted after all—just not by another corporation. He was working for the US government. Probably the military.
He dragged on a white shirt and a pair of jeans. By the time he was done, the pills had kicked in and dropped the pain to a dull, heavy throb that he could live with. He scrubbed his hand through his damp hair and went to see what Jacob had found.
It turned out he’d found Dev. As Jacob worked on the computer, Dev stood by the window with a bottle of sparkling water and watched.
His attention shifted as Simon asked, “You get here okay?”
“I had to sneak out of my own house,” Dev grumbled. “Carl can cover for me for an hour, so let’s get on with it. Harry had a picture of mywife?”
“And my sister,” Simon reminded him. “And Harry’s friend. And her own person. You wouldn’t have gotten away with owning Becca when she was alive. Don’t try now.”
Dev grunted sourly. He leaned back against the wall. From the suit he wore with reluctant style, he’d been dealing with the board or lawyers that day. That would have put him in a bad mood before he even heard Clayton’s name.
“I was friends with Harry too,” he said. “Did he have any pictures of me hung up on his walls?”
“To be fair, Becca was more likeable than you.”
