That was automatic on cars from the Syntech carpool. The doors locked when the engine went on. A safety feature Dev had put in after some idiot drove with a company laptop in the backseat and the doors unlocked. One red light and an enterprising theft had nearly cost the company millions.
“You should be a smear on the roof of that garage,” Simon said. He let go of Jacob, not because he wanted to, but because the effort needed to hold his arm up burned through the pain meds. “Why aren’t you?”
Jacob sat down carefully on the side of the bed, and the mattress dipped under his weight. Discomfort crawled to the surface of his thick liar’s hide.
“I can’t drive,” he said. “I mean, I probablycando it, but I don’t. So I decided to call the police instead. But the car locked itself anyhow, when I got far enough away.”
“You saved the day.”
Jacob wrinkled his nose. “I broke into a flop sweat and called Detective Really-Bad-Mother-Figure to bail me out,” he said. “Not quite the same. She was already on the way. A guy got shot in a park and then a parking garage blew up. But I filled her in on what the SWAT team could expect.”
“You did good.”
“Yeah. Well, you scared the crap out of me,” Jacob said. He sounded aggrieved. He took Simon’s hand, laced their fingers together, and frowned at the result as though he expected something else. Simon squeezed his hand and felt the give of elegant bones under tanned skin. “Anyhow, Nora admitted everything to the cops while you were in surgery. Don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I guess I’m not a suspect in Clayton’s death anymore.”
That meant he didn’t have any reason to stay in San Antonio, didn’t it? All the giddy, relieved heat in Simon’s chest turned to clammy mist. It wasn’t that he wanted to trap Jacob, but even though Jacob was alive, he was still going to lose him. It was… draining.
“That’s a relief,” Simon said.
“Yeah.” Jacob huffed out a sigh. “No kidding. I’m considering a change in career after this.”
“Really?”
“Naw. Probably not,” Jacob said. He turned Simon’s hand over and idly tidied the wrinkled edges of tape around the drip plugged in between his knuckles. “Oh, have you sorted out presents for your niece for Christmas? I’ve got a dog begging….”
Simon raised his eyebrows and let Jacob explain his tale of indigent Fozzy. It didn’t take as long as he might have hoped.
“Thanks, but I’d kind of like to still have a job when I leave here,” he said.
“Ah well.” Jacob shrugged off the disappointment. “My sister is already pissed at me for missing my flight. I might as wellreallyirritate her.”
He stood up, and his hand slid out of Simon’s too easily.
“You’re leaving,” Simon said.
“Yeah,” Jacob said. He tugged at his baggy sweatshirt. “I need to get some clothes, clean up properly.”
“I meant, in general. You’re leaving.”
Jacob shuffled his feet and looked awkward in a way that Simon couldn’t recall seeing on him before. Scared, angry, unhappy—he’d been all of those. Never unsure.
“Yeah. Well, it’s what I do,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twisted up. “I leave. Left home, left school, left a normal life behind. I mean, why not, right?”
Simon couldn’t answer that. It was, he thought bitterly, probably the right decision. Shaw wasn’t dead, and even if Nora testified, the mess wouldn’t be easy to clean up. There was still her contact with the DoD to indict, Lau to find, and a whole corporate mess to clear up at Syntech. Jacob was better off out of it.
“I’d give you a lift to the airport,” he said wryly as he glanced down at himself. “But… do you want me to call you a taxi?”
Jacob waved his phone. “I can Uber.”
“Okay.” Simon swallowed, and regret tasted like pill dust and dry mouth. “I guess this is it, then. Bali, here you come?”
“Portland, actually. Turns out dead people don’t pay their bills, and I’m not good with money. So I get to spend more time with my sister and her kids.” Jacob shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders under his borrowed clothes. It made him look younger than he was—all angles and awkwardness. He folded his lower lip between his teeth. “You know, I’m usually really good at this.”
“What?”
“Manipulating conversations,” Jacob said. “You know, you think whatever you’re saying is your idea. However, I’ve actually structured what we were talking about so you only really have a couple of responses that make sense—the one I want and a really unattractive option. You, though, you’re just missing the cues. I mean, at any point you could ask me to stay.”
“I don’t know if I should,” Simon said.
