Not…
The creak of the door opening interrupted his train of thought.Agent Benson stuck his head in around the door, his face reflected in the mirror set somewhere between petulant and apologetic.A cowlick of blond hair had escaped his attempt to gel it down and stuck up at his temple.
“Sir…I mean, Agent Merlo,” he stumbled awkwardly over the first words.
“Try Javi.”
Benson pulled a face at the idea, then caught his reflection doing the same thing and flushed a patchy red.He coughed and reached up to try to flatten his cowlick back into his hairline.
“Limehouse wants to talk to you,” he said.His mouth pursed a little sourly as he added, “He was kind of a fucker about it.”
Javi grabbed a rough paper towel from the dispenser and wiped his hands off.He balled the damp, disintegrating tissue up and walked over to tap his foot on the metal bracket of the pedal bin.
“Clyde Limehouse is the spouse of an injured SSA and a fellow federal agent,” he said.“Don’t run your mouth where people can hear you.”
Benson raised a sandy eyebrow as his gaze tracked over Javi’s face.He jerked his chin up.
“Isn’t he the one who did that to you?”he said.
Javi let the bin clang shut.“I didn’t say you were wrong,” he said as he motioned for Benson to get out of his way.“Just not to say it out loud.Where is he?”
“In Tracy’s room,” Benson said.
They turned in that direction.“And who’s on guard duty?”Javi asked.He didn’tneedto; he could see the empty chair at the door.Being officious was familiar and easy, a pattern of behavior he could use to keep things normal.
Benson hesitated.He started to break into a jog to get back to his station, then changed his mind and stuck to Javi’s side.
“I mean, Limehouse is with her,” he said.“Like you said, he’s law enforcement, too.”
“And youknowhe wasn’t involved?”Javi asked.
Benson looked aggrieved.As they reached the doors, he ducked back into his station.While he overcompensated by glaring at orderlies, Javi let himself into the hospital room.It smelled like every other hospital room, bleach and latex layered over bodily fluids and that sickly adrenaline smell.
The stepdaughter had retreated to the seat in the corner of the room, sleeves pulled down over her hands and chin tucked into her collar.Limehouse perched clumsily on the side of the bed.An ungenerous part of Javi thought it looked posed, like what Limehouse thought a worried husband would do.
As he closed the door behind him, Limehouse looked up.
“She looks like shit,” he said.That seemed genuine.Javi couldn’t see it.Compared to how she’d looked in that sour little bathroom, Joel looked good.The only injuries that could be seen were a few bruises on her face and the neat gauze strips on her arms.Other than the slow, measured clicks and beeps from the machines monitoring her, she looked almost peaceful.Limehouse started to stroke Joel’s leg through the sheet and then pulled back.“Did they…”
His eyes flicked to his daughter, and he trailed off.Javi knew what he meant.The kid probably did too.
“No,” Javi said.“The doctor can tell you more.”
Limehouse nodded.He’d not shaved since he got off the plane.Ginger stubble, flecked with gray around his mouth, was maybe a day away from a beard.It hid most of the bruise on his jawline.
“Hey, Tom,” Limehouse said after an awkward second.“Go see what’s in the vending machine?”
The request was ignored.
“Please?”
Tom sighed, pulled herself up, and sloped her way out of the room.She paused in the doorway.“I’ll get her the peanut M&M’s,” she said, almost defiantly.“She likes them.”
“Good idea.”
Once they were alone, Limehouse took a deep breath.“That guy, the one outside,” he said.“He said his husband was missing, too.Why?”
“We don’t know,” Javi said.His lips felt stiff.It wasn’t a lie—not exactly—but it felt like one.“Did she ever mention a Miles?Miles Sandoval?Lassiter?Anything?”
