Page 32 of Constantly Cotton
It could be Jason’s secret. He’d kept crushes a secret before—quiet attractions go unremarked upon. He’d learned that if he acknowledged them in his heart and then let go of hope, the attraction didn’t fester, didn’t grow, didn’t cause him to do inappropriate things or give away cards he’d learned to keep so close to the vest they were sewn under his skin.
God, that kid had felt good in his arms that morning.
Couldn’t Jason savor that? Savor his long bare toes on the tile that morning, or the way his dimples tried to peek out when his eyes lightened to so much as a smile?
Cotton would go back to his room full of half-naked young hotties and a well-earned pathfinding mission to discover the rest of his life, and Jason would go back to the worst people in the worst places doing the worst things—and working to stop them.
What would be the harm in letting himself desire the young man when he knew that nothing would come of it?
Cotton broke into his thoughts. “You were delusional,” he said dryly, “when you thought I was an angel. But that’s fine. I don’t think you’re the devil, and I’m certainly not going to turn you over to the military if someone approaches me. Hopefully they’ll take one look at me and think I’m too pretty for brain function and move on.”
Burton and Jason both snorted. “That would be some serious underestimation,” Burton said. “But fine. Let’s move on to whoisafter you?”
“Well, we need to look at two things,” Jason said thoughtfully. “We need to go back to who is under Talbot who likes to party in Vegas, and who was left over from the mobster blowout over that busload of kids.”
“The Schroeders,” Burton said promptly. “Dietrich and Karina. They were the only remaining scumbags. I have no idea who ambushed you on the road. That could have been Alexei Kovacs’s men or that Ziggy guy’s, both of whom are dead now so we don’t have to bother with them. But Dietrich and Karina Schroeder escaped and so did Dima Siderov. So whoever is trying to get you is a confidant of Brigadier General Barney Talbot and partying with the Schroeders and/or Siderov.”
Jason thought about it. “That actually narrows it down. We need to see who’s been partying in Vegas, and we need to know who’s surfacing in Sacramento. Can your sources manage that?”
Burton nodded. “Jackson and Henry have some time on their hands. Jackson’s got that friend who’s almost as witchy as Ernie too. I’ll put them on it.”
Jason closed his eyes and had a vague memory of his body feeling as though it were exploding with pain and fever, and Jackson Rivers, sweaty and stressed, calming him down and doing something medical while Henry assisted.
“Oh God. It’s not like they haven’t done enough for me. Hell, I hate to—”
“Oh shut up,” Burton muttered. “Greater good, blah blah blah. Good people going above and beyond, blah blah blah. You don’t have a corner on the good guy market, you know.”
“They lanced my infected wound and irrigated it,” Jason muttered. “It was so gross. I don’t think you understand how truly gross it was. I won’t be able to look them in the eyes after that. Just, no.”
“Oh jeez, Jason,” Burton shot back. “Ninety-nine percent of the time you’re a thousand years old. Just this once, you need to grow up.”
To Jason’s surprise, Cotton made a noise, a cross between a bark and a chirp, and then, as he and Burton stared at him in surprise, Cotton made it again. And another one. And then a bunch of them in quick succession.
And before Jason understood what was happening, Cotton had buried his face in his arms and was laughing hysterically into the cave of his body, unable to stop.
Finally, when the noise had died down, Jason lowered his head to see how he was. In the quiet, dark hollow of his arms, Jason could see streaks of tears on his cheeks… and closed eyes. He was fast asleep.
Jason let out a breath and sat up. “I think maybe we need to put him back to bed.”
“You too,” Burton murmured. “You look exhausted. Here, let’s walk him back and you guys crawl in together, and I’ll get you some stakeout protection. I’ll leave when it gets here.”
Jason’s stomach was full and his head was buzzing, but like Cotton, it felt like the strategy meeting had about tapped him of all his reserves.
He sighed and followed Cotton and Burton back to their bedroom, taking off his jeans and hooded sweatshirt and flip-flops as Burton undressed Cotton. It wasn’t until Jason was sliding back in bed next to him, the young man curling up close, snuggling in his sleep, that Jason even wondered why they weren’t using different beds.
He tried to say something like that to Burton before he left. “We should have split up,” he mumbled. “Cotton probably doesn’t want to get stuck with me.”
Burton let out a snort and moved back to the side of the bed after turning off the light. “That’s how you want to play this—sir?”
Jason heard the emphasis on his title and tried to work up the energy to bristle. “He’s young,” he mumbled, embarrassed.
“He’s been absolutely devoted to you for a week and a half. I knowI’veaged in that time. I’m pretty sure he has as well.”
Jason tried to snort, but it came out more as a whine. “I don’t want to—”
Burton dropped down to his haunches so their faces were close together. “You need to, boss,” he said softly. “You need someone in your life. You were tired and worn down and crumbling before our eyes. Ernie spent all our time together worrying about you. You get to have something—someone—who makes you feel better. That’s not a crime, Jason.”
“But he’s an angel,” Jason grumbled, not sure if he could get the enormity of the problem across. He was what he’d told them in the kitchen. A sin-eater. He’d seen such terrible things, given such terrible orders. How could he burden Cotton with knowing that he was a killer, just as bad but not as random as the people he hunted?