Page 48 of Under Cover
Denison barked out a laugh. “I’m gonna go in and fuck up that order,” she pronounced. “Do you want me to fuck it up chocolate, or fuck it up strawberry?”
“Both,” Garcia said, because he’d been there on the few days Crosby had broken. “And a truly disgusting amount of pickles on that burger.”
Denison grinned at him. “That’s a good partner right there. Don’t lose him, Crosby, you hear?”
And with that, she and Harding shut their doors, leaving Crosby and Garcia in the sudden silence.
Garcia moved his hand from the small of Crosby’s back to take Crosby’s hand as it sat on his thigh. He half expected Crosby to draw away, because their bosses wereright there, beyond the tinted glass, but Crosby laced their fingers together and squeezed.
“I’m sorry,” Crosby whispered.
“Baby, as far as I’m concerned, you ain’t told no lies. You didn’t talk about the Sons of the Blood or whatever ’cause that involved your dad, am I right?”
“I’m so ashamed,” he confessed, leaning his head forward against the seat. “I felt so stupid. I mean… who doesn’t know that the people around them are racist shitbags?”
Garcia leaned his head against Crosby’s broad shoulder. “A person who doesn’t think that way and doesn’t understand that others do,” he said softly. “You got a helluva education, and you got it quick, papi.But as far as I can tell, you learned all the good stuff, am I right?”
Crosby turned red-rimmed, shiny eyes toward him, and his mouth twisted crookedly. “You’re good,” he rasped. “You’re one of the good things.”
Garcia felt a flutter in his chest, just as real as the first one he’d felt six months ago, walking into the conference room and seeing Crosby’s gray-blue eyes. But this flutter was bigger. Stronger. This flutter would knock him on his ass if he wasn’t careful.
And he hadn’t been careful.
“That’s what I needed to hear,” he said, squeezing Crosby’s hand. With a quick look in either direction, he brought that wide-palmed, big-knuckled hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “You and me, we’ve got some being together to do. Tell me you still want that.”
Crosby’s sigh practically floated out of him. “So bad. You got no idea.”
“Then let’s get you moved into my place. Andnotin the guest room, although we can put your clothes there so everybody can play stupid, okay?”
Crosby let out a crumbly sort of laugh. “What makes you think they’ll have to play?”
“Aw, baby. ’Cause anybody can see I’m gone over you. But we’ll pretend as long as you need to, okay?”
Crosby’s full mouth parted in protest, but Garcia shook his head. “Don’t argue. Don’t say anything. You, son, have had something of aday, as they say. Let’s go get your stuff and pretend that’s all we have to worry about. Tomorrow will come, and it’ll be hard, but tonight we get to play house. You good with that?”
Crosby nodded and sat up a little straighter. “Man, you haven’t even heard me snore yet. I say this lasts about a minute and a half.”
Garcia snorted. “Oh, you wish. I’ve already got plans for earplugs. Your snoring is as epic as your driving.”
Crosby looked around them furtively, and Garcia hated that he had to do that, but a moment later, Garcia felt Crosby’s breath against his temple and the whisper of a kiss.
“I thought,” Crosby murmured, “that if we hooked up, it would all go away. We’d go back to being partners. We’d be fine.”
“No?” Garcia felt naked when he turned his head to meet Crosby’s eyes.
“I thought I was scared yesterday, when I had to take that shot and you were right there. Man, I’m sweating so hard right now. I had to tell you that fucking story, and… and what if you didn’t look at me the same?”
Garcia squeezed his eyes shut. “Nope,” he whispered. “All that wanting—it’s still there.”
“Thank God,” Crosby murmured. They heard voices outside the SUV, and they both straightened up, Garcia shifting so he wasn’t practically in Crosby’s lap, seat belt or no.
HARDING ANDDenison very quietly put the rest of the squad in charge of moving Crosby out of Toby’s loft while they did paperwork and tried to get to the root of the IA problem. Before everybody disbursed, Harding got in one quick admonition.
“Look, everybody,” he said softly, all of them eyeballing the elevator like they expected McEnany to materialize. “This guy has it in for Crosby, and he’ll tell you a little more about that tonight. Before he does, though, here.” He nodded to Denison, who came by with some tiny devices the size of a key fob that she distributed. “This is a portable scrambler. If any place you go is bugged, this will scramble the signal ninety-five percent of the time. I do not like this guy moving in on my people. I havetappedthe IA division of the FBI and NSA, both of whom hold jurisdiction for special procedures over us, andnobodyknows where his authorization came from. As far as I’m concerned, he heard about the shoot and weaseled his way into my office, and he wants Crosby’s ass for a reason all his own. I know we were supposed to run one team in the office tomorrow unless a call came, but I’d like Swan and Pearson to work with Denison and me to research while Chadwick and Carlyle answer any calls.”
“What’re we doing?” Garcia asked, feeling generous. He and Crosby were supposed to be off the next day, barring any big cases.
“You’re off,” Harding said with a snort. “I assume that’s why you picked tonight to move? Tomorrow you guys can fight over where to put the furniture, right?”