Fair Game - lanyon Josh - Страница 39
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“What?” Tucker was watching his expression. “What did you remember?”
“I haven’t had a run-in with him, but the maintenance guy assigned to my office building strikes me as a little hinky.”
“Name?”
“Ray…something. You know how it is. Maintenance people and support staff have that cloaking device.”
“Yeah. Okay. A maintenance guy would have access to most of the campus, right?”
“I’d say so. But all the college personnel have to pass a criminal background check.”
“Just because he ain’t been caught don’t mean he’s not a criminal.”
Elliot shook his head and reached for the last piece of pizza.
“I can’t figure out where you put all that,” Tucker observed. “You eat like a horse.”
“It goes straight to my cock.”
Tucker inhaled beer and spent the next few seconds trying not to drown.
When the phone rang at eleven-thirty they stared at each other.
Tucker’s expression was dark as he rose to answer.
Elliot listened, frowning, to the taciturn one-sided conversation. He watched Tucker’s expression slowly set.
At last Tucker hung up the phone and turned to face him. “That was Detective Anderson. You’ll be pleased to know they took your suggestion seriously and they’ve spent the last five hours combing their missing persons files.”
“And?”
“It looks like you were right.”
“How many?” Elliot’s voice didn’t sound like himself.
“Since 2005 over nine young men loosely matching your victims’ profiles have turned up missing in Tacoma or Pierce County.”
Elliot expelled a long, shaky breath. “I’d rather have been wrong.”
“Yeah. I’d rather you had been wrong too. But you’re not. Tacoma PD is in agreement. You’ve been hunting a serial killer.”
Chapter Twenty
Tucker was in the bathroom brushing his teeth.
Elliot sat on the edge of the bed in his shorts listening to the brisk, business-like sound. Tucker was kind of an old-fashioned guy. No electric toothbrush for him. He didn’t use an electric razor either.
And why Elliot was sitting here thinking about Tucker’s grooming habits was anyone’s guess. They had awkwardly agreed to share the bed. Tucker’s couch wasn’t long enough for either of them to sleep comfortably. Elliot wasn’t in fit shape to get himself home even if his car hadn’t been towed to a repair shop.
If he was perfectly honest, he didn’t want to go home.
Not that he was completely sure what he did want—let alone what Tucker wanted.
The bathroom door opened. Tucker stood framed for an instant before he turned out the light: wide shoulders, muscular arms, smooth freckled chest. Pale blue pajama bottoms hung low on his narrow hips. He didn’t typically wear pajamas. At least, Elliot didn’t think he did. The truth was, the nights they had spent together were not nights for toothbrushes and pajamas. They had been nights when they were both exhausted but still wound up, nights when they had eaten and fallen into bed to fuck themselves to sleep. Nights that usually involved too much alcohol.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t fair. There had been that one time—a long weekend not long before Elliot had been shot—when they had gone out on Tucker’s boat. Those days had been spent swimming and sailing as well as the other. Not a lot of toothbrushing then either, granted, but they had been together because they wanted to spend that time with each other. Elliot supposed so, anyway.
He had almost forgotten that. No, not forgotten. Deliberately erased the memories.
“You look grim,” Tucker commented.
“I feel like we should be doing something.”
Tucker raised one reddish eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”
That was more like the old Tucker. Elliot gave a flicker of a smile.
“Listen.” Tucker sat next to him on the side of the bed. “There isn’t anything more we can do tonight. Do you think there’s something more we can do?”
Elliot wearily shook his head. “It’s knowing the Unsub’s out there. Knowing he could be targeting some kid right now.”
“He had a busy and unsuccessful day. I don’t think he’s on the move tonight. Not if he’s half as tired as you look.”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn’t…a slam. It’s hard to know what to say to you, Elliot. You’re so…touchy.”
The sincerity in Tucker’s voice forced Elliot to consider this dispassionately.
“Maybe,” he finally admitted.
“Just because you can’t do everything you used to do—” Tucker broke off at Elliot’s expression. “Okay. I know I’m the last person with the right to comment, but…you’ve changed so much.”
Elliot absorbed this without speaking. Absorbed the genuine concern, the caring in Tucker’s voice. He said roughly, “That’s unexpected coming from you. Aren’t you the guy who basically told me to get over it?”
Tucker’s face reddened. “I never…I didn’t…” He swallowed.
“Yeah, you did.”
Tucker looked away. That little muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yeah, I did.”
Elliot had no idea how to respond. For some bizarre reason he was starting to sympathize with Tucker. He went for safe ground and changed the subject. “Anyway, this guy isn’t like the typical serial killer. He’s been operating for five years without popping up on the radar until now. He’s careful, restrained. Or maybe he’s cherry picking.”
“He’s what?”
“Well, think about it. Nine victims in five years, and only now he begins to devolve?”
“It’s way too soon to be sure all nine of these missing persons are his victims.”
“Right. But that’s kind of my point. He’s not doing this for the attention. He’s not feeding off the media frenzy or public fear. He’s taken pains that there isn’t any. Only now is he showing any desire to challenge the authorities.”
“It may be more personal than that. His challenge may be specific to you. He may not be looking at you as a symbol of the authorities. He may be looking at you as you.”
“It had occurred to me.”
“Which leads us back to the theory that the Unsub is someone known to you.” Tucker leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers raking his hair. It stood up in coppery tufts through his long fingers. “I gotta tell you, my dreams are bad enough without talking about serial killers before bed.”
Elliot started to answer and was caught off guard by a huge yawn. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
Elliot groaned. Tucker elbowed him companionably before pushing off the bed. He went down the hall to turn off the lights and check the locks. Elliot snapped off the lamp on the table, stretched out in the sheets, settled his head in the cool plumpness of the pillow. He closed his eyes and the world seemed to drop away from beneath him.
Sometime later he was vaguely aware of Tucker coming back, turning out the other light and crawling into bed. Elliot had been dozing but the minute that long, powerful body lowered next to his, he jerked back to awareness.
For a few seconds they lay unspeaking in the darkness. Elliot was acutely aware of Tucker’s warmth, his energy. He could smell the strangely erotic blend of toothpaste and bare skin, feel the calm rise and fall of Tucker’s chest as he lightly inhaled and exhaled. Tucker’s arm was so close Elliot’s skin tingled.
It seemed unbelievable to him that they should be lying here side by side. He could almost convince himself that the last year and a half hadn’t happened.
Tucker’s voice said out of the darkness, “I know I wasn’t—that I could have been more understanding. You didn’t give me a chance to…come to terms with it.”
Elliot replied, “Yeah, it was pretty selfish of me.”
Silence.
“I think you’re forgetting something,” Tucker said. “I think you’ve forgotten that you were the one who told me you didn’t want to see me, that it was too hard, too painful.”
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