"Fine - but if he doesn't start breathing normally again, I'll give him CPR." Mr. Reilly leaned in. "I also know the Heimlich. So you're safe with solid food, too."
"I'm so relieved," Veck said dryly.
Jim stood outside the pool of light thrown by the house, watching Veck and Reilly with what had to be the woman's parents. The bunch of them ended up at a square table, sitting down to what looked like Italian food. Lot of talking. Lot of laughing.
Veck was a little reserved, but that was probably SOP for the guy - especially given that it was clear he was interested in his partner: He was all about the clandestine looks, shooting them across that table when people were focused elsewhere.
This was everything that was good in the world, Jim thought. This was the Barten house without the tragedy, a happy family just going about their business in the world. And this blissful, simple existence was exactly what Devina loved to destroy.
This was what everyone had to lose.
Jim cursed and rubbed the back of his neck. Shit, maybe his boys had a point, maybe he was getting too distracted with the Sissy thing. It didn't feel like that was the case, but that was Eddie and Adrian's point - if you were all up in your head about something, you lost your judgment.
But come on, he was focused on Veck. He was with the guy: Devina so much as sneezed in that detective's direction, Jim was going to be on her like a plague.
So how was he not working this? How was he compromised ?
He went for his smokes, took out a coffin nail, and lit up. He was utterly cloaked, so it wasn't as if anyone was going to see the orange glow.
Man, think of the damage he could have done in XOps if he'd had all these bells and whistles back then - and now he knew why God didn't give people superpowers. Humans were dangerous enough as it was... .
Time ground by, although he knew that from his watch, not any kind of stars or moon. The cloud cover was thick and the grumble of thunder off in the distance made him wonder whether he could be not just invisible, but waterproof -
From out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow darting from tree to tree. The thing was low to the ground and moving fast, exactly the way Devina's minions liked to roll up into a fight.
Falling into a defensive stance, he reached for his weapons - and found none.
Fucking hell, f**king perfect. Here he was in the 'burbs without backup, with nothing but a house frame and some clear glass windows to keep the target out of the demon's reach: Because, friggin' hothead that he was, he'd left without his gun.
At least if Eddie and Adrian were here, the three of them could pide and conquer.
Not compromised, his ass. He'd been so caught up in the drama that he hadn't taken care of himself, or Veck.
Shit.
The shadow moved to another tree ... and came out onto the lawn.
Jim frowned and eased up. "Dog?"
As a little happy bark rippled over to him, it was clear that what he was seeing was not a mirage: More than the information his eyes provided, in his chest, he knew that was his animal.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
As the wiry-haired stray came over, his limp hampered him only a bit, and Jim was abruptly reminded of the first day he'd met the dog at that job site.
Where Jim had died for the first time.
That had been the start of it all, hadn't it. And he'd had no idea where it was going to take him.
Sinking down on his haunches, he gave Dog some good stroking. "Are Eddie and Adrian here?"
The chuff that came back at him seemed like a "negs" if he'd ever heard it.
"Well, I'm glad you are."
Dog planted his butt on the ground at Jim's feet. Even though the creature was smaller than him by about a hundred and ninety pounds and nearly six feet, Jim had the sense that he was being protected, not the other way around.
"You're not really a dog, are you."
There was a stretch of silence. Then another chuff - which seemed rather noncommittal.
"Didn't think so. You going to tell me where you went?" The animal sneezed and shook its head. "Okay, I respect your privacy."
That got him a paw on the leg.
Jim parked it on the grass and stroked Dog's rough, scratchy fur. Refocusing on the dinner that he could see but not eat, on conversation he could witness but not hear, on warmth he could sense but not feel, he knew he was nonetheless not alone.
And as rain started to fall, he was surprised at how much that mattered.
Chapter 20
Gary Peters had always thought he was a lot like his name: nothing special. There were millions of Garys in the nation - same for the Peters thing - and his physical appearance was no more dynamic. He'd somehow managed to avoid a beer gut, but his hair was thinning, and now that he was creeping up on the big four-oh, he was at the crossroads of buzzing the stuff all off. Face was mashed potato white, eyes were dirt brown, and it was debatable whether he had any jawline - or whether he was just neck from cheek to collarbone.
Bottom line? He was the flyover guy, the one women didn't see between the spanked-out metrosexuals and the athletes and the Richie Riches.
Which was why the sight of Britnae hipping into his desk and looking at him like ... well, like that ... was a bit of a shocker.
"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "What were you saying?"
She leaned in ... and good God, those br**sts ...
When she eased back again, he had a feeling that she'd spoken, but he had no idea what - " 'Scuse me, phone." He reached over and picked up the receiver. "Caldwell Police Department - intake. Yup. Uh-huh. Yeah, he's booked and processed. Yeah, sure - I'll get a message to him that you'll be in in the morning."
He made some notations in the log and turned his attention back to Britnae. Who'd decided to sit up on the corner she'd perched against.
Her skirt had been small to begin with. Now he believed it was a micromini."Ah ... what?" he said.
"I asked you when your break is."
"Oh, sorry." For chrissakes, that was like getting "what's your name?" wrong. "Not for a while. Hey, don't you usually go home at five?"
"I got stuck undoing a payroll screwup." As she pouted, her already puffy lower lip went right into pillow territory. "It's so unfair - and I have another hour ahead of me, at least, and it's so late."
He glanced at his clock. Eight p.m. He'd just started his new ten-hour shift of checking in prisoners and evidence, so this was early for him. Then again, he got to go home at six in the morning, and her department had to be here at eight thirty a.m.
She leaned in again. "Is it true that all of the Kroner stuff is here?"
"You mean upstairs in Evidence? Yeah, it is."
"Have you seen it?"
"Some of it."
"Really?"
There was something totally cool about the way her eyes widened a little and her hand went to the base of her throat.
"It's pretty nasty," he added, feeling his chest get bigger.
"Like ... what is it?"
Her hesitation told him that she wanted to know, but didn't at the same time. "Bits and pieces ... if you get my drift."
Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Will you take me in there?"
"To the Evidence room? Oh, yeah, no, I can't. It's only for authorized personnel."
"But you're authorized, aren't you."
"And I'd like to keep my job."
"Who would know?" She tilted forward even farther. To the point where he imagined that if he sat up a little straighter, they'd be kissing.
Afraid of making a fool out of himself, he moved away, pushing his chair back.
"I wouldn't tell," she whispered.
"It's not so simple. You have to sign in and out, and there are security cameras. It's not like a break room."
He could hear the petulance in his own voice, and abruptly despised his balding, half-assed self. Maybe this was the reason he never got laid.
"But you could get me in ... if you wanted to." Her lips were absolutely mesmerizing, moving slowly as she enunciated the words. "Right? I know you could, if you wanted to. And I wouldn't touch anything."
God, how strange was this? He'd expected to come into work and just do his thing like he did every night. But here it was, this ... crossroads.
Did he Gary Peters it? Or did he grow a set and actually do something with this hot chick?
"You know what? Let's go."
He stood up and double-checked that his keys were on his belt - which, of course, they were. And what do you know, he had a reason to go up to the third floor. During the night shift, there was only a skeleton crew on at HQ, so he was the one responsible for walking any stuff upstairs - and Hicks and Rodriguez had just brought in two grams of pot that had been sealed and signed for.