Snowball in Hell - lanyon Josh - Страница 22
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«I'm fine.»
«Yeah, we can see that. But it won't hurt to lie down for an hour.»
Actually, it sounded like a swell idea. He let his eyes drift closed. Felt Spain and the other cop tugging at him with careful haste, undoing his belt, unbuttoning his shirt. He was going to tell them it wasn't worth it because he was just closing his eyes for a moment. Or … or maybe an hour…. He felt like Rommel's panzers had run him over, backed up, and run him over again. He ached from head to toe. Which reminded him:
«What happened to the girl?» he asked, opening his eyes. And then, indignantly, «What happened to my shoes?»
«Pearl blew,» Spain said grimly. «During the night. Her aunt drove her to Indian Falls, and she caught a train back to Los Angeles first thing this morning.» His mouth quirked in a kind of smile. «Your shoes are still on the loose.»
He had a nice smile-nice eyes-and Nathan smiled back at him. It was probably a mistake. He couldn't afford to let his guard down with a cop. Even this cop. Especially this cop, really.
Then Spain's words filtered his concussed brain, and he said, «Pearl's aunt? Who's her aunt?»
«Mrs. Hubbard, the hotel manageress. She says Pearl remembered some urgent business back in town and had to leave right away. Had no idea we were looking for her.» Spain reached for the waistband of Nathan's trousers, and Nathan brushed his hand away, sitting up fast-which made his head spin and his stomach do an unpleasant flop.
«Suit yourself,» Spain said mildly.
Hands shaking, Nathan climbed out of his trousers– acutely aware of how desperately he wanted Spain's hands on him. It was frightening how much he wanted it. He didn't dare look at the other two in case they saw it in his face.
Dizzy, he turned back to the bed and the older cop had pulled the sheet and blankets back sandwich-style. He awkwardly maneuvered on to the mattress, and Spain caught him by the shoulder and quite easily, gently, slipped him out of his unbuttoned shirt.
And there it was: the longed for warmth of hands on his bare skin, the strength and gentleness that he craved but
could never-would never-find except in fleeting, stolen moments.
He crashed down on the mattress, burying his face in the pillow. There were things he should be asking them, things he should be saying, but he was overwhelmed with guilt and yearning and fear and frustration. His body hurt, but his heart hurt more. And he was too tired and too sore to deal with any of it. He closed his eyes, shutting them out, shutting everything out.
The older cop said something, and Spain answered, both of their voices quiet and far away. The lights went out, and Nathan went out with them.
Chapter Seven
The soothing squeak and creak of a rocker worked its way into his consciousness. He listened to it for a while, lulled by feelings the homely sound beguiled, feelings of safety and peace and well-being.
After a bit he realized that he was awake and that he felt better. His head was no longer killing him, his gut had settled, he was relaxed and warm. He sighed his relief, and the rocker abruptly stopped rocking. Floorboards vibrated underfoot, he opened his eyes, and someone was bending over him. Nathan shot upright, dislodging the hand alighting on his brow, and just missing a collision with Lt. Spain.
«Jesus,» Spain said. «If you ever need a job you could probably find work as a jack-in-the-box.»
«Sorry. You … surprised me.» He subsided back against the stack of pillows. He wasn't usually this jumpy, but he could hardly tell Spain that it was mostly due to his presence.
«You surprised me too,» Spain said. «And you keep surprising me.» He sat down on the foot of the shiny pink bedspread and studied Nathan.
Nathan didn't know what to make of that. Spain looked at him with an open directness that he found bewildering. If he moved his foot beneath the blankets he could brush Spain's thigh. His heart sped up at the thought. He was painfully conscious of everything about the other man: his solid muscled warmth, the way Spain smelled of soap and Old Spice, the fine clear texture of his skin, and eyelashes as long
and black as a girl's. Nathan liked everything about him. Too much. He searched around for something safe to say. «What happened to Lawdie and Hammer?»
«Hammer? Dewey Hammer?» Spain's mouth curved. «Well, that makes sense. He usually runs with Vince Lawdie. Haven't seen Hammer, but we've got Lawdie on assault and kidnapping.» His smile widened into that grin that Nathan liked so much. «We're hoping you're going to be able to substantiate those charges. We were sort of going by your general appearance in the woods, and Lawdie's reaction when we carried you into the lodge.»
«You bet,» Nathan said. «I'll be happy to press charges. Those assholes cold cocked me last night. I guess it was last night.» He looked past Spain to the sweeps of dotted Swiss framing the windows-and the darkness beyond. «Is it night now?» he asked, astonished.
Spain nodded.
«What are we still doing here?»
«Mostly waiting for you to wake up.» Spain didn't seem upset about it, but Nathan couldn't figure it out.
«You all sat around here the entire day waiting for me to wake up?»
For the first time, Spain's man-to-man gaze sheered. «Not all of us. I sent Jonesy and the others back to town this morning with Lawdie. You know who Lawdie works for?»
«I've seen him before. Sid Szabo?»
«Same thing. Nora Noonan. He works at the Las Palmas Club. From what we can make out, their orders were to hold you up here long enough for Pearl to slip.»
With a sinking feeling, Nathan asked, «Did your men pick Pearl up in Los Angeles?»
«Either they missed her or she didn't get off the train.»
Nathan put a careful hand to his head.
«I know,» Spain said grimly, watching him.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Spain said, «You and me will have to take the train back. The day after tomorrow.»
Noonan's thugs must have really conked him because he just couldn't seem to connect the dots. «The day after tomorrow?»
«Tonight's Christmas Eve.»
Nathan let that sink in for a moment. Christmas Eve? Then he protested, «I don't understand. Why would you-?»
Spain's eyes met Nathan's once more, but there was something funny in his expression. «We didn't want to move you. The doctor said you needed complete rest and quiet.»
«The hell with that.» And then, slowly, «You could have just left me on my own.»
«I didn't want to.»
Nathan couldn't seem to tear his gaze away; he wondered if he was still asleep, dreaming maybe. Or maybe what Spain was saying was that Nathan was in custody; that he didn't trust him to come back to Los Angeles on his own.
Or-was Spain setting a trap for him? His heart jerked.
Was there a remote chance that Spain intended what he seemed to be saying with those honey-brown eyes?
«I don't understand,» Nathan said at last, huskily, terrified that even this much was giving himself away.
Spain reached over and covered Nathan's hand with the warm strength of his own. «I'm hoping you do,» he said.
And after a shocked moment, Nathan turned his hand, intertwining his fingers with Spain. He was almost afraid to look at Spain's face, but when he did, Spain looked as naked and vulnerable as he felt.
He closed his eyes savoring the hard, callused strength of Spain's grip. «What about…» With his thumb he traced the gold band on Spain's left hand.
«My wife died last year. Cancer. Not long after I was discharged.» Spain said huskily, «Can I tell you about myself?»
Nathan opened his eyes, nodded.
«Feeling this way isn't anything new for me, but … loving Rachel made it easy to ignore.» His smile was wry. «Well, maybe not easy, but … I really loved her. We met when we were in high school. I guess she-I guess that's what made the difference.»
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