Page 107

Sound advice. I was worried about a lot of shit, but getting hauled in front of a judge for shooting a kidnapper who’d been holding a gun on one of his victims wasn’t high on the list.
“Good,” Bea huffed. “You should pin medals on these boys’ chests for what they did.”
The male detective gave her a tight smile. “You’re preaching to the choir, ma’am. We’ve been after Berlusconi for ages. No one in the legal system is gonna mourn that asshole.”
His partner shot him a quelling look, and he pasted on a thin façade of professionalism. “Sorry. I meant to say, no one’s gonna mourn thatallegedasshole.”
In addition to Bea, I got frequent visits from Zalen, Mia, and even Emiel over the following days. Only Nat and Luca were conspicuous by their absence. I couldn’t blame them; if I’d been able to avoid my own company, I’d have done it, too.
I learned that both of them had been released—Luca with pulled muscles in his shoulder that didn’t quite rise to the level of a sprain, and Nat with a kidney contusion and mild concussion. Nat was already back at work part time, and somehow Mia and her staff had managed to keep the restaurant running smoothly during this critical period for its survival.
Mia visited me in the mornings before heading to work, and as the days passed, the haunted look gradually disappeared from her face. She was still tired—spinning too many plates at once, as usual—but dark circles no longer underlined her eyes.
I wondered, with a kind of sick curiosity, how she was handling the reality of having her sort-of ex-husband living under the same roof. Evidently, it was suiting her just fine... and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about that.
After five days of lying on a damned hospital bed, undergoing poking, prodding, and endless physical therapy, I looked up as Emiel walked into my room with a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Time to bust you outta here, asshole,” he said, efficiently circling the cramped space and shoving my personal items intothe knapsack. “Home in time for Christmas, just like in one of those stupid movies. Look, it’s even snowing.”
I glanced out the window, confirming that, yes, it was in fact snowing outside. The weirdly warm fall weather had apparently decided to take a hike just in time for me to skid around on my half-healed leg like an idiot.
“Great,” I said sourly, still not used to this new, disconcerting Emiel who communicated in full sentences rather than angry glares and wordless grunts.
The following couple of hours were spent navigating piles of paperwork, culminating with me getting wheeled out in a fucking wheelchair like an invalid.
“You know how it is. We can’t let you fall while you’re still on hospital grounds and might sue us,” the beta nurse said cheerfully, pushing me through the atrium and out the glass doors.
He and Emiel transferred me into Luca’s little Nissan Leaf—apparently, someone had decided that getting me in and out of the much taller Bronco might be an issue. Once I was settled, Emiel folded himself into the driver’s seat like an elephant climbing into a phone booth.
The car hummed quietly to life, tires slipping a bit on half-frozen slush.
Once we were on the road, I gave into the temptation to needle the driver. “So, how’s the Nat situation going? Are you still enjoying having your boyfriend there for a sleepover?”
Emiel’s eyes cut to me briefly before returning to the road. “Notmyboyfriend, is he? Just a friend.” I watched his heavy brow crinkle in profile. “Who happens to be a boy, I guess. He’s doin’ okay. Luca likes him.”
And why did that revelation make my stomach swoop and dip?
Emiel wasn’t done. “You three been mighty quiet about exactly what happened in that warehouse. But it’s clear enough you and Nat stepped between Luca and danger.”
Only when it was nearly too late, I didn’t say.
When the silence stretched, Emiel seemed to give up on getting any more details, thankfully. The drive was uneventful, and the house was quiet when we arrived. Snow was beginning to stick to the trees and grass in earnest, turning the place into a Hallmark postcard. Emiel shouldered my belongings and helped me inside from the garage, depositing me on the couch in the TV room.
“We’re home!” he bellowed.
A familiar gray cat was the first to respond. Princess trotted in to weave around Emiel’s ankles before sniffing cautiously at my feet. A few moments later, Nat darkened the room’s doorway, hesitating just inside.
“Glad you’re back, Byron,” he said, his tone cautious. “How’s the leg?”
I shrugged, playing at being unconcerned. “Another scar for the collection. How’s the kidney?”
Nat rubbed a hand restlessly up and down his arm. “Well, I stopped pissing blood a few days ago. So... can’t complain, I guess.”
The side of his face was still a mottled green and yellow-brown mess of bruising.
“Guess not,” I agreed, still with no idea how I was supposed to navigate this situation.
“You going to the restaurant this evening?” Emiel asked.