Twenty-One

Sacha

 

Parker was hungry. Which Sacha supposed he should be glad of; the past few days, almost a week, with Parker holed up in Seth’s house refusing to do anything but sulk had been driving Sacha crazy. He understood—this was how Parker reacted when he was hurt, and no doubt whatever Zeke had done (or not done) had hurt him. But he needed to quit the running away. Adam was supposed to get back to Sacha any minute with what information he was able to find out about the fire and the dead body, and how badly the authorities wanted to talk to Parker. Which, he figured with the time it was taking Adam, wasn’t terribly badly.

“There must be somewhere decent to eat in this village,” Parker whined.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” They were driving up State Street. Sacha could see the SkPD headquarters and knew there was a good coffee-and-sandwich spot across the street. As luck would have it, there was a car pulling out of a parking space.

The Booking Room was busy and full of cops. It made Sacha oddly wistful—a feeling he hadn’t expected, missing the camaraderie of his Marshal days, shooting the breeze about cases and suspects over terrible cups of coffee.

Scanning the seating area, he stopped short when he spotted a very recognizable brown, curly head of hair. Parker nearly ran into his back.

“Did you purposely pick a spot where all the cops in this town go for lunch?” he whispered into Sacha’s shoulder.

Before Sacha could come up with a reason why they should turn around and leave, Micah looked up and saw them. Sacha could see why Adam had fallen hard for the guy; his smile lit up his entire face.

“Have you been making friends?” Parker asked incredulously, seeing Micah’s reaction. “This is not the Sacha I know and love.”

Micah waved them over, tucking his laptop into a ratty messenger bag as they cut through the lunch crowd toward his table. “Have a seat, it’s great to see you.”

They sat, and Sacha made introductions, then listened as Micah and Parker charmed each other. Sacha watched the SkPD stream in and then back out with their gallon jugs of caffeine. He recognized a few of them from when he was undercover.

Parker poked him in the side. “Order me something, will you? I’m starved.”

He was finishing ordering when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Managing not to spin around like a lunatic, he plastered a smile on his face before turning to see who it was. It was Meyer from the Chamber of Commerce. The guy was worse than a tick.

One summer while Sacha still lived with the Finlaysons, he’d semi-adopted a stray dog that had been living out in the abandoned field behind their neighborhood. Meyer reminded him of the dog, except Sacha had liked and encouraged the dog. He’d been sad when it had disappeared. Meyer grated on his nerves.

“Sacha! Great to see you; what are you doing on this side of town?”

Meyer ended up sitting with them at Micah’s table. There had been no way to politely—or rudely—get rid of him. The guy ignored or simply did not understand social cues. He really was like a puppy. He oozed in between Parker and Sacha, sitting far closer than necessary, even though the table was small. Sacha scooted his chair away as far as he could.

Parker seemed fascinated, but Sacha couldn’t tell if it was in a good way or the way a person watches a slow but inevitable car accident. Glancing up, Parker saw Sacha eyeing him and shook his head before tossing out a knowing smile. Sacha had no idea what that was about.

“Call me Chris,” Meyer repeated, after Sacha introduced him as Meyer. Old habits.

And good fucking God, he’d forgotten how Parker could talk when he got going… about anything. While the other three men talked about the city of Skagit, business, random things Parker brought up—including a few stories from their shared childhoods (names changed to protect the innocent, of course)—Sacha’s mind wandered. He wasn’t a master of casual conversation.

He mused over the time since his return to Skagit. Seth. Almost every memory had Seth in it or some association with him. Seth returning from a job, covered in a fine coating of dusty soil held tightly to his skin by the sweat of the day. He should have smelled terrible, but instead he smelled like sunshine and the outdoors. A little bit like laughter. Seth sitting on the floor of the Warrick, again dusty and sweaty, hunched over the box of long-lost artifacts. Seth, ignoring Sacha to gather the day’s debris and put it in the trash. Seth, at ease in his backyard, chatting with Sacha about mountain biking as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing.

Parker smirked at him as if he knew exactly what Sacha was thinking about.