“Did you miss the boat?” Tucker joked as Elliot limped into the kitchen. He was unloading the dishwasher. He stopped. His expression changed. “What happened to you?”
“You called it,” Elliot said tersely. “I missed the boat.”
Tucker studied him, frowning. “And you hurt your knee running to catch it?”
“You’re a funny guy, Lance. No, as a matter of fact, what really hurts right now is my wallet. I just had to replace a four-hundred-dollar tire.”
Tucker opened his mouth, but Elliot said, “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over dinner. Which I don’t feel like cooking. You want to eat at the Boathouse?”
“Fine with me.” Tucker was still frowning.
“Give me five minutes to wash up.”
It took Elliot ten and counting to splash cold water on his face, swallow a couple of aspirin and massage a glob of Biofreeze into his knee. He taped his knee, changed his shirt, combed his hair and felt a lot better.
Even so, he didn’t argue when Tucker said he’d drive.
The Boathouse was the island’s only real restaurant. It had changed hands twice since Elliot had moved to the island, but each time the cook, bartender and waitstaff had remained in place. The only things that ever really transitioned were the decor and the prices. Currently the prices were down and turn-of-the-century fishing and boating prints had replaced the mounted game fish that had previously dominated the long room.
Elliot and Tucker declined the offer of dining on the leaf-strewn and deeply shaded deck and slid into one of the huge and comfortable booths next to the picture windows overlooking the purple water.
The waitress took their orders—like the rest of their island neighbors they had the entire menu memorized—and returned almost immediately with their drinks.
A bald eagle swooped over the eerily still waters of Lake Elsinore and veered away to vanish into the tall, silent evergreens ringing the amethyst water. At this time of the evening the lake was empty of the usual canoes and kayaks.
“You should have called campus security before you gave chase,” Tucker stated when Elliot finished telling him the whole sorry after-school saga.
“Yeah, because they responded so quickly when I did phone.”
“It would have been the smart move—and it wouldn’t have made any difference in the end, would it?” At Elliot’s look of irritation, Tucker shrugged. “Okay. Well, who’ve you ticked off lately?”
“The usual suspects.”
“You handed the knife over to Tacoma PD?”
“For all the good it’s going to do.”
“You said he wasn’t wearing gloves.”
“He didn’t appear to be. But unless he’s already got a criminal record, it’s not going to help much. Anyway, we both know only about ten percent of fingerprints from crime scenes are usable.”
Tucker acknowledged it. After another moment he said, “I thought you weren’t going to park in that back lot anymore.”
“I never said that. I like using the chapel parking lot.”
Tucker chewed the inside of his cheek—apparently biting back what he wanted to say—and settled on a more tactful “Would you recognize him again?”
Elliot said bitterly, “Maybe. If he was running from me—and wearing the same sweatshirt and tennis shoes.”
Tucker’s twist of grin was sympathetic.
“Back lot or not, it’s pretty brazen,” Elliot said. He finished off his drink. The whisky helped. He should probably stick to one though, because without a doubt this was going to be another night he would have to resort to painkillers.
“It is.” Tucker was watching him. “What are you thinking?”
“That it’s early in the semester to have annoyed anyone so much.”
Tucker nodded thoughtfully. “You believe it’s something else? Something more? That’s it related somehow to Corian?”
Elliot did not want to believe that. He had been telling himself ever since he left the parking lot at PSU that the incident did not have to be anything more than a random act of vandalism. No need to take it personally. Shit happened.
“That would be one hell of a coincidence. Corian drops the bombshell that he maybe had an accomplice and suddenly the accomplice pops up? Unlikely.”
“Agreed,” Tucker said. “But it’s also hard to believe that right in the middle of your resuming contact with Corian, your car gets vandalized by someone completely unrelated to the Corian case.”
“Coincidences do happen.”
“Well, we know it wasn’t an attempted carjacking.”
Elliot snorted. “True. Any word on Corian?”
“He was still hanging in there as of five o’clock this afternoon.”
“Was it a prison hit? What the hell happened?”
Tucker started to reply, but the waitress arrived to inform them the kitchen was out of salmon.
By the time the salmon crisis had been resolved, Elliot’s thoughts had taken another tack. He asked, “Has Corian had any visitors since he was moved to FDC SeaTac?”
“Only his lawyer.”
“Phone calls?”
“Only his lawyer.”
He was unsatisfied with that answer. Someone somewhere had missed something. If Corian had an accomplice, he would surely be attempting to communicate with him.
If he had an accomplice. That remained a question mark.
There were other possibilities. The news of Corian’s potentially fatal “accident” had been all over news radio by the time Elliot had reached the ferry. Was it possible Corian had a fan out there who held Elliot responsible?
Elliot thought that over. When he surfaced from his preoccupation he noticed Tucker was still scowling out the window.
“You look worried,” Elliot said. “If it’s on my account, stop. I wasn’t in any danger. It was a nuisance having to change the tire and a bigger nuisance having to file a police report. That’s all. I don’t think this is connected to Corian or part of a larger picture.”
“Yeah.” Though Tucker agreed, his expression did not lighten.
Even now, even with Corian out of the picture maybe, probably, for good, he still cast a long and very dark shadow.
When the hell were they going to be done with him and able to move on with their lives?
Their meals arrived and Elliot tried to move the conversation into more cheerful channels. “Are you looking forward to your trip?”
“Not really.” Meeting his gaze, Tucker offered a lopsided smile. “I’m glad for the opportunity to get to know Tova a little better. I think.”
A few months before, Tucker’s birth mother, Tova—a former teenage crack whore who’d given her baby up for adoption some thirty-three years earlier—had reached out to Tucker. This trip, an invitation to spend the weekend at Tova’s home in Wyoming, was the culmination of some very tentative back-and-forthing on the part of both parties.
“The timing could be better,” Tucker added.
“And it could be worse. It is what it is. Anyway, don’t worry about me sitting home alone on a Friday night. I’ve been invited to a party.”
Tucker chuckled. “What party? You’re allergic to parties.”
“Hey, I don’t mind parties so long as twerking or Twister are not involved. Will MacAuley invited me over to his place tomorrow evening.”
“Will MacAuley? You’re kidding. Your father’s archenemy? I thought you couldn’t stand that guy.”
“Nope. Not kidding.” Elliot filled Tucker in on the details of MacAuley’s peculiar invite, and unsurprisingly Tucker’s amusement turned to antipathy.
“He’s collecting murderers?”
“Killers. If you want to get into semantics. People who have taken human lives whether justifiably or otherwise. He includes me in that category, by the way.”
Tucker looked offended on Elliot’s behalf. “You?”
Elliot shrugged. “Technically, he’s correct.”
“He’s an ass.” Tucker was watching him grimly. “You’re planning to go, I guess?”
“I’m considering it.” Elliot said slowly, “He told me Corian’s accomplice will be there.”
“What?”
That got a few looks from the dining room’s other occupants, but Tucker didn’t notice. The solid red line of his brows looked like a thick and angry vein across his forehead. “Where the hell would he come up with that?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing all day. Maybe the rumor’s been circulating for a while.”
“No. There was no rumor.” But Tucker sounded more uneasy than certain.
“MacAuley has contacts in Seattle PD.”
“Pine isn’t one of them. And I don’t know where else that news would come from. Who else knows about this bullshit claim of Corian’s? No one.”
No one if Corian’s claim was bullshit. If he was telling the truth...that opened up a whole can of ugly possibility.
Elliot said, “He’s got quite a reach. MacAuley, I mean.”
“Yeah, well. Speaking of his reach...if he asks to show you his etchings, watch out.”
Elliot laughed. “I don’t think he’s an etchings kind of guy. He’d probably offer to show me his rhino tusk.”
Tucker’s wince was exaggerated, but he was not entirely kidding when he said, “Yeah, well, we both know he’s got a thing for you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would. He would.”
Elliot was still amused. He had noticed and appreciated that Tucker had not instantly tried to dissuade him from attending MacAuley’s freak show. It was only on the topic of Corian that Tucker seemed to lose his usual perspective.
“MacAuley would be flattered to know he was generating this much anxiety.”
“Probably.” Tucker’s smile was more of a grimace. “I want to know who MacAuley’s informant is.”
“I know. I’ll see what I can do.”
They finished dinner in an amicable mood. The short drive back to the house was accomplished in a companionable silence, background music supplied by The Civil Wars. Or, as Tucker liked to call them, The Civil Ears.
They went straight upstairs, but when Elliot stepped out of the bathroom, Tucker had got out the heating pad and was plugging it in.
Meeting Elliot’s surprised gaze, he said, “I know you, Superman. You tried to leap over that back fence in a single bound, didn’t you?”
“I sure did not. What do you think I am?”
“Stubborn.” Tucker grinned. “Very stubborn.”
Elliot grimaced, but it was kind of nice not to have to pretend he wasn’t in pain when he was. Thankfully, they had moved past the stage where he felt honor-bound to constantly prove he was every bit as tough as Tucker, bum knee or not. And a lot of that was probably due to Tucker not being the kind of asshole who believed masculinity was about sexual endurance or bench-pressing your car.
Tucker patted the bed in invitation and Elliot stretched out cautiously beside him.
Supine was supposed to be better for his knee, but he seemed to get the most relief lying prone. Tucker slowly stroked his back and after a minute or two he closed his eyes, relaxing, giving in to weariness. Now that he thought about it, it really had been a long day.
“Did you take something?” Tucker’s voice was quiet.
Elliot nodded, not opening his eyes.
Tucker made an approving sound, gently squeezing the nape of Elliot’s neck, sending flash strikes of pleasure through knotted nerves and stiff muscles.
Elliot considered this non-erotic contact. He had never thought of himself as someone who liked to, well, cuddle. That had not been something he had ever looked for from a sexual partner. In fact, there had been a time when the very idea would have made him a little impatient. Now he thought that it proved something fundamental, even critical about their relationship, that he found moments like these every bit as satisfying as he did sex. Or maybe it just said something about him, and the fact that he was getting soft and sappy in his old age.
“What’s funny?” Tucker murmured.
“Life.”
Tucker made a sound of agreement. Or maybe shared amusement. “I was thinking,” he said suddenly.
“Mmm?”
“Next summer we could hunt down some of those Confederate gold legends of yours. Maybe visit Savannah and the Chennault Plantation or what was the other one you were interested in?”
“Danville, Virginia.”
“Right,” Tucker said. “We could follow the trail. Atlanta was my first office. I’d like to show you around Atlanta.”
“I didn’t know that.” Elliot opened his eyes, considering. He knew Tucker was trying to make up for Elliot being shut out of the Sculptor case. Not that it was Tucker’s fault, but he’d wanted Elliot out and having got what he wanted, he felt a little guilty. It was kind of funny but kind of...endearing. “Sure. I’d like that.”
“Okay.” Tucker sounded pleased. “It’ll be nice planning another vacation with you. We could even turn it into a...” He didn’t finish the thought.
Elliot smiled, closing his eyes again. It would be nice. Yes. Nice to think of all the vacations they could look forward to...
* * *
The Bureau’s most recent recommendation was that agents wore hip rather than shoulder holsters, but Tucker still preferred his shoulder harness. Elliot watched him the next morning go through his little pat-down ritual of checking for ID, weapon, ammunition, handcuffs and car keys before they left for the ferry.
Elliot was also wearing a shoulder holster. Yesterday’s incident behind the chapel had served as a warning he was too smart to ignore—even if Tucker had allowed that level of obliviousness.
“All packed?” Elliot asked. “Got your toothbrush?” He shrugged on his blazer. That was the nice thing about teaching. Not only were firearms—usually—unnecessary, he hadn’t worn a tie in months. In fact, he’d actually reached the point of wearing jeans to work. Dress jeans, true, but still one for the “pros” column of a career in education. Every day was casual dress day.
Tucker’s smile was distracted. “Do you think I should bring her something? Some little gift?”
“A bottle of wine?” Elliot was joking. Tova was now a born-again Christian married to a conservative car salesman in Wyoming. Or maybe Ed wasn’t a car salesman. Whatever he was, he and Tova did not drink. That had been made very clear on the one occasion Elliot had dined with them. Once had been plenty for him. But he wanted this reunion for Tucker because Tucker wanted it. Or at least wanted the idea of it. “Maybe a box of fancy soap? Cleanliness is next to godliness.”
Tucker did not laugh. “I wish you were coming.”
“It’s better that I don’t. This way there are no distractions. It’s just you and Tova getting to know each other a little better.”
“Ed will be there.”
“He’s her husband. It’s kind of a package deal.”
“Like us.”
Well, yes. But not in Tova’s and Ed’s eyes. Elliot didn’t say that though. He said bracingly, “Baby steps. This is already way out of their comfort zone.”
“That doesn’t make me feel a whole hell of a lot better.”
Maybe he should have phrased it differently. It continued to surprise Elliot how uncertain and uneasy Tucker was about pursuing this very fragile relationship with his mother. There was not much in the world that could make Tucker nervous.
“You’ve got to give it a shot, Tucker. You’ve got to give her a shot. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Still.” Tucker looked only partially convinced. “I don’t know why I agreed to such a long visit.”
“It’s a weekend. You’ll be back in time for dinner Sunday evening.” Elliot was having trouble concealing his smile. Tucker looked like a big unhappy kid before a trip to the dentist. “In fact, what do you want for your welcome-home meal? I’ll cook whatever you like. Scampi? Ribs? Steak?”
“Prime rib?”
“You’ve got it.”
“Maybe with those cheesy mashed potatoes?”
“Maybe. Probably.”
“And maybe dessert?”
“I think dessert can be arranged.”
Tucker momentarily brightened, but then was back at it. “It’s not even—or not only—the visible and pained trying to adjust to finding out gay runs in the genes. It’s the whole...the holy-roller stuff.”
“Sure...” Elliot didn’t really have an answer because it bothered him too.
“I don’t even know if I believe in God. They’re so conservative they make me look like a bleeding-heart liberal.”
Elliot laughed. “Uh, no. But I’m getting a kick out of the fact you think so.”
They were running slightly late by the time Elliot let Tucker off at his car and their goodbyes were affectionate but brisk.
“If it’s okay, I’ll stay at your place tonight,” Elliot said.
Behind the intimidating Oakleys, Tucker’s face was enigmatic. “You know you don’t have to ask, right?”
“Yeah. I know.”
To his surprise Tucker pushed back his shades and leaned inside to kiss him again. “Listen,” he said.
Elliot was smiling. “Always.”
“Just...be careful.”
“Of course,” Elliot said easily. “I may not even go. The more I think about this, the more I think MacAuley’s just yanking my chain.”
Tucker still looked serious. “Tonight, sure, but I mean...all the time.”
Elliot raised his brows. Tucker’s answering smile was wry. “Yeah. I know that look. I’m not going to try to tell you not to poke around, because you’ll do what the hell you want regardless. But just...humor me on two points. Make sure you’re armed at all times.”
“Hey.” Elliot drew back his blazer lapel in demonstration.
“I know. But I mean at home too. Just in case Corian wasn’t bullshitting about having an accomplice. I don’t like what happened yesterday.”
“Me neither.”
“I also don’t like coincidences. So if you go out to Corian’s again, make sure you check in with Yamiguchi or Woll or Dannon—or even your dad. Make sure someone knows where you are. Don’t take chances.”
“I solemnly promise,” Elliot said. He was amused but also softened by Tucker’s concern. Or possibly paranoia. “Anyway, you’re the one who should be worried. A whole weekend in redneck country. Don’t let them convert you.”
That got a laugh out of Tucker. “To what?”
“Country music? Line dancing? Buffalo jumping?”
“Buffalo jumping?”
“I may have made that last one up.”
Tucker grinned a slow and sexy grin, leaning in for one final kiss. “Don’t worry, Professor. The only thing I want to jump is you.”