of progress in the last minutes. Practically everything was boxed or tied, ready to be moved.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“More of the same. I think their plan is to bore me into a confession.”
We carried the rest of Guy’s stuff to my car, which was better suited to hauling boxes
and a potted palm. I followed Guy over to his place. He suggested that we wait to unload the
Forester until after we’d seen Peter, which suited me, and we climbed into the Miata to drive
to Peter’s.
* * * * *
According to his roommate, Peter Verlane was not at home.
Guy and I returned to the car.
“We could wait?” I said doubtfully.
Guy considered this. “We could have a long wait.”
No lie, considering Peter’s active social life.
We waited.
A Miata is not the best vehicle for stakeout.
We talked.
“Are you hungry?” Guy inquired at last.
I looked at the clock in the dashboard. Three. Yeah, I was sort of hungry. As hungry as
I could get with that perpetual knot in my stomach.
I said, “We’re liable to miss him.”
“He may not come home this evening. He often doesn’t.”
I glanced at him. Guy shrugged. “I’m fond of Peter, but there’s nothing serious between
us.”
“That’s good, because if I’m right, and you’re wrong, Peter is going to jail for a long
time.”
He stared out the windshield at the apartment house. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I don’t know.”
His mouth curved wryly. “That’s honest – if indecisive.”
I said, “I want to trust you, Guy, because I like you. But I’ve been wrong about people
before. I don’t want to end up with my heart carved out.” Literally or figuratively.
We sat in silence for minutes more before Guy said abruptly, “We’re wasting our time.
Did you want to grab dinner?” He started the Miata’s engine.
Stakeout Rule #1. Bring your own car or rent your own car. Do not rely on other
people and their dwindling patience for your ride.
“Thanks, no,” I said. “I’ve got to get back.”
There was another way to do this, I realized.
* * * * *
Bam! Bam! Bam!
I nearly dropped the can of salmon I was opening for my supper.
The shop was locked for the evening. That meant my visitor was probably one of two
people – and that didn’t sound like Velvet’s knock.
I set the can on the counter, wiped the fish oil off my hands. I opened the door. Sure
enough, Jake stood there. Clearly this wasn’t a social call.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he said, brushing past me.
I was pretty sure he was not referring to the missing food groups in my evening repast.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Guy was just helping me –”
“Yeah, I know what that faggot Snowden is helping you with. What part of stay the
fuck out of it don’t you understand?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with your investigation,” I said angrily. Which was
not true, although as far as I knew, Peter Verlane had not materialized on the cops’ radar so
far, so technically I was not trespassing on Jake’s turf.
That’s what I told myself, but it didn’t fly as well with Jake.
“You’re not that stupid,” he said. “Then again, maybe you are. I go to the trouble of
lying – of falsifying police reports – to keep you out of this shit, and you turn right around
and walk back into it.”
My heart slipped into heavy, slow punches against my rib cage. “Give me a break,” I
said. “You didn’t lie to protect me. You lied to protect yourself. You never asked me what I
wanted. And I sure as hell never made you any promises about what I would or wouldn’t
do.”
His finger jabbed the air, punctuating his words. “Stay. Out. Of. It. Or this time, bad
heart or not, I will throw your ass in jail.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to risk anyone discovering the connection
between us.”
His face changed, grew ugly, dangerous. “Are you threatening me?”
I hadn’t been, but like an ember in dry grass, a self-destructive impulse flicked to life in
my mind.
“My existence threatens you.”
He shoved me back, hard. I crashed into the hall table, knocking it over, smashing the
jar of old marbles I had collected. Glass balls skipped and bounced along the corridor. I
landed on my back, my head banging down on the hardwood floor.
I lay there for a second, blinking up at the lighting fixture, taking in the years of dust
and dead moths gathered in the etched-glass globe. The silence that followed was more
startling than the collision of me and the table and the floor. I heard Jake’s harsh breathing
and a marble rolling away down the hall – which seemed pretty damned appropriate, since
I’d apparently lost all of mine.
He bent over me. Probably safer to stay submissively on my back, but I got up fast,
knocking his hands away. It was a protective instinct and maybe not a wise one. I hadn’t had
time to inventory what, if any real damage, I’d sustained.
Weirdly, neither of us spoke. There was plenty to say, but no words.
Jake stared at me. In his eyes, I read the urge to knock me down again, to punch, to
kick, to silence, to destroy. His hands were clenched by his side. I felt light-headed with
anger and outrage – and yeah, maybe a little fear. He could probably kill me by accident. My
heart was tripping in my throat.
I was afraid if I tried to speak I would cry. From rage.
He swallowed once, dryly. He looked sick.
“I won’t tell you again. Stay out of it.”
He went, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Chapter Twenty-six
“I’m not comfortable with this, Adrien,” Chan said when he returned my phone call
early Tuesday morning. “Why exactly do you want this information?”
“I’m curious.”
“Why wouldn’t you ask Jake to nose around, if that’s all it is?”
“First of all, because he doesn’t have time for it. He’s too busy with his big-league cult-
murder case. Secondly, as you probably know, the situation between us is awkward these