“There’s no place like home,” Tucker mumbled, burying his face in his pillow.
Elliot sat down on the edge of the mattress and ran a reassuring hand over Tucker’s back. Reassuring himself, not Tucker. He smiled faintly. “I’m going to take the dog for a walk. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
Tucker mumbled sleepy agreement.
Sheba, having spent most of the day in her pen, was overjoyed to be free at last and set off to make sure no one had been tampering with her island in her absence. While she took time to sniff every blade of grass and roll luxuriously in every patch of sunlight, Elliot continued to try to match the puzzle pieces together.
He still couldn’t understand how Torin Barro fit in. But maybe bringing Barro in had simply been a matter of practicality. Foster would need help both in creating the appearance that Corian had had an accomplice all along, and in abducting Tucker.
Following and harassing Elliot seemed to comprise the scheme for convincing him Corian had an accomplice. Maybe those tactics would have escalated as time passed, but Corian had unexpectedly been taken out of action.
Leaving his real accomplice, Connie Foster, to scramble.
How else to explain that, having successfully taken Tucker, there had been no attempt at follow-up?
From the point Corian had been incapacitated, everything had come to a screeching halt.
Or had it?
No.
Barro had continued to follow Elliot—and that was embarrassing; how the hell had he not noticed he was being followed, let alone by an aspiring hit man? It looked like Barro had followed Elliot right into the middle of the shootout at William MacAuley’s, and then panicked—believing Elliot had killed MacAuley?—and drawn on Elliot.
What a goddamned mess.
And what about Saturday’s early-morning prowler?
Sure, maybe Sheba had been reacting to unfamiliar sounds in an unfamiliar place. But maybe not. She hadn’t reacted like that before or since.
Had someone—Foster?—tried to get into the cabin? Not a cheerful thought. Was she maybe even now somewhere on the island?
What were they dealing with when it came to Foster? Was she acting with the goal of protecting Andrew Corian? Or did she have some other aim in mind?
Elliot checked his phone and whistled for Sheba. They’d been walking for over an hour and he was anxious to get back to the house and make sure Tucker was okay. It was going to be a long time before he stopped worrying about Tucker.
Sheba led the way, loping toward home, and watching her, Elliot wondered what Tucker would think about adopting her. Of course, Rice’s parents might want her, but if no one came forward—and Tucker was up for the idea—well, something to think about anyway.
Still uneasy about the thought that Foster might have paid them a visit, when they reached the cabin Elliot went around to the front and studied the porch.
It had been too dark to notice the night Sheba had woken him barking, but sure enough, now he spotted something small and gold glinting on the welcome mat outside the front door. He picked it up and examined it curiously.
A gold wedding ring. A man’s wedding ring.
A cold knot formed in Elliot’s gut. This was not good. That ring had not shown up by accident. It was supposed to send a message—and the message was not hearts and flowers.
Tucker was still in bed when Elliot came upstairs, but he’d showered, shaved and had clearly reached the stage of lounging around versus dead-to-the-world.
“How was your walk?” he greeted Elliot. “Montgomery called. I think she wants to make nice with you again.” And then to Sheba, who cautiously approached the bed, “Hello, dog.”
Sheba’s ears flattened and she slunk away.
Tucker’s smile was rueful. “She’s not sure about me.”
“I don’t think she’s too sure about anybody at this point.” Elliot stretched out on the bed and showed him the ring. “Look what I found.”
Tucker took the ring and stared at it. After a long moment he said in a very weird voice, “Where did you get this?”
The note of consternation told Elliot his instinct was correct—not that he’d needed confirmation. In old movies criminals were always dropping handkerchiefs or matchbooks, but nobody—not in the movies and not in real life—dropped their wedding ring and didn’t notice.
“Front door welcome mat.” He filled Tucker in on two nights earlier when Sheba had woken him barking hysterically at something that might or might not have been raccoons.
Probably not raccoons, going by Tucker’s expression.
“Or it could have been left today,” Elliot added.
“I—No. I don’t think so. I think it was probably your Saturday morning prowler.” Tucker gazed at him and then looked back at the ring. He seemed to have lost color, though he was pale enough that it was hard to be sure.
“Okay. What’s the look for?” Elliot asked.
“Look at the inscription.”
Elliot read the inscription. “Always.” He met Tucker’s blue gaze.
Tucker swallowed. “I bought that ring for you,” he said. “I was carrying it when I got nabbed.”
There was a lot to absorb there. Elliot fastened on the least alarming piece, repeating, “For me?”
Tucker nodded. His smile was twisted. “I didn’t want to leave it here in case you came across it.”
Elliot nodded, but was that really an answer?
Tucker cleared his throat, said, “This wasn’t the way I—But I was thinking—I’ve been thinking for a while—that we should—I mean, if you agree, obviously—”
“Yes,” Elliot said.
Tucker brightened. “Yes? Is that—We’re talking about the same thing?”
Elliot smiled. “Yeah. Marriage? I’d like that.”
Tucker beamed and then leaned back, saying casually, “I figured you would.”
Elliot laughed, and was still laughing as Tucker pulled him in for a kiss, but when their lips parted, there was worry in Tucker’s eyes.
“If that ring was waiting on your doorstep, so was Foster. This was supposed to be a message for you.”
“I know.” Elliot started to rise. “I’m going to phone Montgomery now.”
“Okay. Or...” Tucker grabbed the tail of Elliot’s flannel shirt, pulling him back. “In twenty minutes.”
Elliot laughed, hauled the shirt over his head and tossed it in the general direction of the foot of the bed. His T-shirt followed.
Tucker surged forward, pushing him back into the comforter and Elliot smiled up at him, tracking hands around Tucker’s waist—noting again the weight he’d lost—felt vertebrae, smooth back muscle. Two dimples, the hard bony center of Tucker’s coccyx.
“I missed you.” He held on to the smile, but so many times over the past few weeks he’d feared all this was lost forever, that the fear and grief seemed to have imprinted itself in his cells. His heart still ached a little even now.
“I know...” Tucker’s voice was soft, his tone comforting as though he did know only too well. “It’s okay now.”
“Yeah.”
Tucker’s lips were featherlight over Elliot’s eyelids. “Sorry I hit you. Does your face hurt a lot?”
“I forgot all about it.”
Tucker’s lean cheek was freshly shaved and baby-smooth. Elliot nuzzled his way to Tucker’s mouth, latched on. Tucker tasted warm and toothpasty and wonderfully familiar.
Tucker said, and the words carried his flavor, “You have a lot of clothes on for a guy I plan to fuck.”
Elliot’s heart jumped, his whole body lighting up with sexual energy and excitement. He’d still been thinking of Tucker as convalescent, but if Tucker was up for this—and yeah, he clearly was.
“I can fix that.” Wrestling off his jeans, kicking away the floppy confines of pant legs, falling back, knees wide, breathless and smiling into the bedclothes.
Tucker’s expression was absorbed as his thumbs slid up the insides of Elliot’s biceps, tracing the delicate threads of blue vein, fingertips tracing across his chest, his expression as serious as though he was relearning a lost language.
“This is how I kept it together,” he whispered. “I’d close my eyes and try to remember every single thing I could about you.”
He kissed Elliot’s neck and then the hollow beneath, before raising his head. Their mouths met in a gentle bump of nose and lips.
Elliot muttered, “I love your nose,” and Tucker laughed.
Elliot wasn’t kidding though. He kissed the bridge of Tucker’s nose, the corner of his eye. He said shakily, “I kept thinking...why didn’t I kiss you more? Why didn’t I kiss your nose and your eyebrows? Why didn’t I tell you I loved you more often?”
“Hey,” Tucker protested. He drew back, expression concerned, his eyes too bright. “Don’t say that. You’re going to make me—It’s not true.”
Yeah, it was. And moving forward he would make more effort to show how much Tucker mattered to him, to take time to show how much he appreciated and loved him...
Tucker’s hands slid under Elliot’s buttocks, drawing him closer. The heavy blunt head of his cock brushed Elliot’s knees. Elliot’s hands skimmed the jut of collarbone beneath marble skin, the hard nub of nipples. There were rope burns around Tucker’s chest—that would be how they had lowered him into the pit cave—bruises on his wrists. Nothing that wouldn’t heal in time.
Tucker bent over Elliot, and Sheba lunged up, nails scratching the wooden floor, and began to bark.
Tucker pulled back and Elliot sat up. “The hell, Sheba!”
Sheba looked almost human in her confusion. She retreated, sat back on her haunches, doing her balancing act, covering her eyes with her white paws.
Elliot swallowed. His heart was still hammering alarm and thwarted desire.
“That’s...a cute trick,” Tucker observed after a moment.
“Yeah.” After a second or two, Elliot added, “Rice spent a lot of time playing with her and training her.”
“For what? The priesthood?”
They observed Sheba in silence and she sprang onto the bed, pushing between Elliot and Tucker. Her tail wagged frantically, and she seemed to be trying to convey apology to Elliot while keeping a wary eye on Tucker.
“Are we keeping her?” Tucker asked.
“No, Sheba.” He had to dodge the frantic licks of her tongue. “It doesn’t look like it.” It broke his heart, but if Sheba viewed Tucker as the enemy...
Tucker frowned. “Nah. Give me a chance to win her over.”
As though she understood, Sheba threw him one of those harassed, slightly baleful looks.
“No. Not good, Sheba.” Elliot pushed her off the bed.
Sheba looked about as crushed as a dog could look.
“I kind of owe that dog,” Tucker said.
“She’s a great dog. Damn it.” Elliot sighed. “I should call Montgomery.” A yawn caught him off guard. “Shall we, uh...?”
Tucker grimaced. “Why don’t we cuddle for a while and get her used to the idea of me and you.”
“Montgomery?”
“Uh, no. Your new best friend.”
Sheba watched alertly as they stretched out, spooning comfortably. “It’s okay, Sheba,” Elliot told her. Having Tucker’s arms around him again felt like coming home. Felt great. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. It seemed like he had spent the past forty-eight hours racing back and forth between the hospital, Nobb’s Organic Farm and Goose Island...
Sheba cocked her head. Finally she lay down again, put her head on her paws and prepared to keep a close and steady watch.
* * *
It was nearly five o’clock when Elliot woke to find himself alone.
He’d had all of that he could take, so despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep for a thousand years, he followed the sound of Tucker’s voice to the kitchen.
He reached the doorway as Tucker was saying, “Listen, if we’re going to be roommates, we’re going to have to figure out how to make this work.”
He was holding out a raw steak while Sheba balanced on her haunches pawing the air.
Elliot’s jaw dropped. He got out, “Hey! What the hell?”
Both guilty parties jumped. Tucker nearly dropped the steak. Sheba covered her eyes.
“Sheba, what do you think you’re doing?”
Sheba came to him, dancing on her hind legs, making her case.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Elliot told her. He turned to Tucker.
“Okay,” Tucker said. “You do realize you’re talking to the dog like she’s the responsible party?”
“You’re feeding sirloin steak to a dog, Lance, so yes, I’d say of the two of you, she’s got the edge.”
Tucker grinned. “Now I feel like I’m home. You’ve been so sweet since I got back I was starting to worry you might be sick.”
Elliot reluctantly laughed, allowing Tucker to pull him into a long and lingering kiss.
“Anyway,” Tucker said at last. “I think I’m winning her over. I just had to get on her wavelength.”
“And she transmits through steak?” Elliot felt him over. “Which, assuming we still have any left, I think I’m cooking for your dinner. Christ, you’re thin.”
“So are you. Pining for me, I guess.” Tucker added, “I phoned Montgomery. The BAU has started putting together a profile on Connie Foster.”
“That was fast.”
“There is a sense of urgency, yes,” Tucker said.
Elliot felt a little hollow inside as he met Tucker’s gaze. “Right.”
“She might head for the hills,” Tucker said. “We might never hear from her again. If she has any sense of self-preservation, that’s exactly what she’ll do.”
“What does the BAU think she’s going to do?”
“Sam Kennedy says she’s going to come after you.”
Well...hell. It made sense though. The “game” had always been between him and Corian. That’s how Corian had seen it, and that was likely how Foster saw it. Even the decision to take Tucker had probably been made with an eye to inflicting maximum pain on him since, from a practical standpoint, any member of the task force would have served just as well. In fact, given their history, Woll might more reasonably have been Corian’s preferred target.
“Sooner or later?”
Tucker’s neutral tone was at odds with the bleakness of his eyes. “Probably sooner.”