Fair Game - lanyon Josh (хорошие книги бесплатные полностью TXT) 📗

By the time Tucker had locked his front door and poured the whisky, they had talked themselves hoarse and were no longer speaking. The first glass of Laphroaig went down like water, the second received more thoughtful appreciation and by the third Elliot was starting to feel almost conciliatory.

He broke the silence at last, putting his empty glass on the coffee table. “I understand everything you’ve said. I’m not underestimating the risk. I know that’s what you think. I’m just asking you to understand why I can’t put my life on hold.”

“Why?” Tucker bit out. He continued to glare out the windows at the mostly dark buildings across the street.

“It’s not ego. It’s not because I want to match wits with some murdering sociopath to prove that I’m still—that I can still—” Elliot stopped. This was harder than he’d expected. He wasn’t much for soul-baring. Not without significant pharmaceutical reinforcement.

Tucker gave him a long, unspeaking look. A look Elliot had no idea how to interpret. Tucker was angry, yes, that much he understood, but the rest of it? That mute bleakness? What did that mean?

He made himself explain further, made himself admit the things he would have rather not confessed. “It took me too long to get to this point. To build this life. You don’t understand…how much I wanted to give up after I got hit.”

Tucker’s frown deepened. He put his glass down and came to join Elliot on the sofa. “We’re not talking about the Witness Protection Program, Elliot. And it wouldn’t be forever.”

“You have no idea how long it will be. We both know there’s no way to foretell something like that.”

Tucker actually smiled. “I don’t think you realize how much the work you’ve put in has helped shape this case. We already know that we’re looking for someone closely connected to the university, possibly a graduate student or even an employee. And we’ve identified the Unsub’s victim type. Both those things are major. We’re closing in on this guy. And tonight’s attack brings us that much closer. Right this minute we’ve got people checking the ferry boat records. He didn’t fly over to the island.”

Elliot said wearily, “Great. But we both know how long, even after a suspect has been identified, it can take to catch him red-handed.”

“We don’t need to catch him red-handed. We just need to put him at the right place and time, and the rest of the pieces are going to fall into place. He’s unraveling fast, as his approaching you indicates. I think we’re dealing with a visionary type of killer, someone who thinks he’s fulfilling his destiny, and when we finally arrest him, I believe he’s going to be only too happy to explain to us what he’s doing—and why we should let him continue.”

Elliot restlessly dialed his empty glass first one way, then the other on the coffee table. Strictly speaking, what Tucker was saying made sense. The Unsub was deteriorating, as indicated by his changing MO and his contact with Elliot. It wasn’t that he wanted to be caught. It was that he was convinced he couldn’t be caught.

“If you would just hear me out, I think we can find a compromise on this,” Tucker said.

“Which is what?”

“You stay here.”

“Here?”

“Why not? It’s not a luxury cabin in the woods, but it’s not bad.”

“Here with you?”

Tucker said exasperatedly, “Well, I guess I could go to a hotel, but…yes, with me.”

Elliot didn’t know what to say. And seeing that he was at a loss, Tucker changed tack, nudging Elliot’s thigh with his knee and coaxing, “Come on, admit it. You felt it Saturday too. Aren’t you curious as to how we’d do spending more time together?”

“I assumed we were going to try to spend more time together.”

Tucker said bluntly, “I mean living together.”

“Living together?”

Well, that was easy enough. They’d probably kill each other within a week.

Elliot started to say so, but Tucker didn’t appear to be kidding. He was smiling but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, something about that dogged defensiveness made Elliot wonder what Tucker’s formative years had been like. Unlike Elliot, Tucker never talked about his childhood or his family.

So Elliot swallowed his rejection. The fact was, crazy though it was, the idea did sort of appeal. It wasn’t like he and Tucker didn’t already know they were attracted and wanted to see more of each other. Maybe in a way it was sort of logical.

When he didn’t immediately refuse, Tucker seemed to grow more confident. “We could give it a trial run. Try it for a week. You can’t go home until your place is cleared as a crime scene anyway. True?”

“True,” Elliot said reluctantly.

Tucker’s smile broadened, very white in his freckled face. “You’re crazy about me, Elliot. Why not admit it?”

Elliot shook his head. “You’re nuts.”

“Nah. You can’t kid a kidder.” He wrapped a muscular arm around Elliot and tugged him over. Elliot went with it, but he was still shaking his head over the sad state of Tucker’s sanity. Tucker’s mouth covered his. Elliot tasted the bite of the whisky as Tucker kissed him with those warm, almost tender lips. He closed his eyes, gave himself to the sweetness of the kiss.

Regardless of everything else, he wasn’t planning to give this up anytime soon. So maybe there was a bright side. He had feared he wouldn’t see anything of Tucker while his investigation was in full swing, but if he was staying with Tucker, he was bound to see more of him than he otherwise would.

He sighed and Tucker pulled him closer still, settling Elliot’s head against his shoulder, which wasn’t easy given that Elliot was nearly as tall as he was. He said softly, “You know how I know, Elliot?”

“You’ve got a wild imagination?”

Tucker shook his head. “No. I know how you feel because I feel the same way.”

*  *  *

Monday set the pattern for the rest of the week.

Elliot went to work in the morning wearing a shoulder holster—his permit for concealed carry rushed through in record time thanks to the cooperation of Tacoma PD—for the first time in nearly two years. Other than wearing a weapon again, his day was perfectly ordinary. As agreed, he checked in with Tucker at regular intervals. After his workday ended, he went for his massage therapy, and then drove back to Seattle.

On Monday and Tuesday he ate supper by himself, but Tucker was home and in bed by midnight every night, and Elliot found he liked being there to welcome him.

If he was strictly honest, Tucker’s version of “protective custody” wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared. Tucker didn’t try to keep him out of the loop. He discussed the case with Elliot as though they were still equals.

“The background check came back on your boy Ray Mandat,” Tucker said Wednesday morning as they both shared his small bathroom, trying to get ready for work. “He’s ex-military and lives with his mom.”

“You may as well lock him up now.” Elliot spoke over the buzz of his electric shaver.

Tucker was grinning, his eyes meeting Elliot’s in the mirror. “He claims to have an alibi for the night Baker was grabbed, but it’s not watertight. He says he was at the movies.”

Elliot grunted.

“Get this. He used to work for Tacoma Animal Care and Control. They let him go when they discovered he was appropriating dead animal carcasses for his own personal use.”

“I’m glad we decided to forgo breakfast.”

Tucker slipped an arm around Elliot, pulling him close. “Is that the only reason you’re glad we decided to forgo breakfast?”

“You’ve got a one-track mind,” Elliot informed him.

“And you’ve got a ticket to ride.”

Elliot groaned, switching off the razor, but he let himself be kissed and even entered into the spirit of things despite the fact that they were running quite late.

Later he said, “You never finished explaining what Ray was doing with the dead animals.”