The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks - lanyon Josh (читать книги онлайн txt) 📗

Nick pulled his gun, planted one hand in Perry’s chest, and whispered, “Stay here.”

Perry was happy to obey. He watched Nick start forward. Nick glanced back at him, and an expression of exasperation fleeted across his set face. He jerked his head backward, giving Perry to understand he was supposed to get out of the line of potential fire.

He plastered himself against the wall behind Nick, heart hammering hard. His chest was getting that tight, itchy feeling. God, please not now… He fought the desire to cough.

Nick kicked open the door and slipped inside the front room, gun at the ready. He pivoted alertly to the left, swung to the right -- never mind the gun, he was a weapon all on his own, Perry thought, watching his progress through the crack in the door.

Nick disappeared out of Perry’s line of vision.

Perry waited. His eyes fell on something he had missed as he watched Nick. A pair of feet stuck out from behind the kitchen counter. Someone lay on the kitchen floor.

A wave of dizziness hit him; he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

Another body. They ought to change the name of this place to Homicide House.

When he opened his eyes and looked again, Nick was stealthily cutting from the hallway into the bedroom.

A moment later he stuck his head around the corner.

“Get in here, Foster. Someone knocked Stein out.”

“Stein? How did he get up here so fast?”

“I don’t know. I just know he’s here and unconscious.”

Stein was making an effort to sit up when Perry and Nick joined him on the kitchen linoleum.

“What the hell happened?” he muttered.

“Someone cold-cocked you,” Nick replied. “Did you see who?”

Stein felt the top of his head. “Shit, what’d he hit me with? A baseball bat?”

A visible lump rose out of his iron gray part.

“Probably that,” Perry said, pointing to the fireplace poker, which was wrapped in a paint-spattered rag.

“I guess I oughta be grateful he wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“He?” Nick questioned.

“He or she.”

“What happened?”

“The door was open so I walked in.”

“Why?” Perry asked.

Stein admitted, “I guess I just assumed it was you two. Anyway, I heard a movement behind me. He must have been behind the door. I turned and he slammed me over the head.”

Nick asked, “But you didn’t see who it was?”

Stein shook his head, then winced.

“The bedroom window was open,” Nick said.

“He must have got out that way,” Perry said, meeting his eyes. “Otherwise we’d have seen him going down the stairs.”

Nick nodded slowly. “Unless he started downstairs before we left my place. He’d have to be moving pretty fast. See if you can locate the deputy. He’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Maybe he’s disappeared, like Tiny,” Stein mumbled.

Wide-eyed, Perry turned back to Nick, who shook his head. “Nah. No way. He’s either inside Watson’s apartment, or he’s snooping around downstairs.”

Perry jumped up and raced down the stairs. He reached the landing and was starting down the second flight when someone called, “Hey, Foster! Where’s the fire?”

It was Deputy Abe back in his chair outside Watson’s apartment door.

Perry skidded to a stop and stared down the long hall.

“Where were you?”

The deputy raised a coffee mug. “Downstairs. Getting something hot to drink. This place is like a morgue.”

“Mr. Stein was knocked out upstairs in my apartment.”

“Who? Stein? What was he doing in your apartment? Where were you?”

“I was staying with Nick. Mr. Reno.”

“The SEAL?” The surprise in the deputy’s voice was not flattering. Perry flushed. Not that there was anything to be embarrassed about -- unfortunately.

He said shortly, “Mr. Stein heard footsteps. He went up to investigate.”

“Why didn’t he call me?”

“He couldn’t find you.”

The deputy looked uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah. I was…er…talking with Ms.… um…Bridger.”

Miss Scarlet in the kitchen, Perry thought, grimly amused. He waited for the deputy to set aside his mug and then led the way back upstairs.

“A lot of screwy things happen in this house,” the deputy commented.

“Tell me about it,” Perry muttered.

They found Stein on his feet, though listing a bit, refusing offers of paramedics.

“An ice pack,” he said. “Coupla aspirin. I’ll be good as new.”

“You could have a concussion,” Nick said. “I’d get checked out if I were you.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Stein said caustically.

And Nick’s cheek creased in a reluctant smile. “Maybe not,” he agreed.

The deputy asked all the obvious questions while Stein grew more impatient and gray with each passing moment.

“How many ways can I say it?” he asked finally. “I didn’t see a goddamned thing.”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” the deputy said, injured. “This is what they pay me for.”

“Is that so? I’m not impressed with how my tax dollars are spent. When I was on the force…”

They all tuned out at that, Deputy Abe turning a jaundiced eye on the informal gallery of Perry’s paintings. As Stein’s reminiscences wound down, he asked, “Are these worth anything?”

Perry shrugged.

The deputy frowned at a painting of a field of berries ripening in the autumn sun. “I don’t see the point of painting something like this when you can just take a photograph.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Perry said.

“No, because a photograph is more accurate.”

“Art isn’t just about accuracy. It’s about interpretation. It’s about --”

Nick said, in the tone of one making a real effort, “I don’t think an art critic broke in here.”

The deputy shrugged as though personally unconvinced.

“This is the last time I do the neighborly bit,” Stein grumbled. He was headed slowly for the front door. He gestured to Nick. “Next time I’ll let you take point. You seem trained for it.”

That reminded the deputy. “By the way, do you have a permit for that cannon?” He was eyeing Nick narrowly.

“Yep.” Nick smiled tightly. “I’m the law-abiding type.”

The deputy held his gaze, then turned to Perry. “Anything missing?”

“No.”

“You haven’t checked,” Nick pointed out.

Perry gave him an ungrateful look and walked quickly down the hall to the bedroom.

The deputy said, “I guess I’ll poke around a little. See what I turn up.”

“You could check the bedroom window for fingerprints,” Nick suggested.

“I’m glad you thought of that,” the deputy drawled. “What would the sheriff’s department do without you?”

Perry returned. “I don’t think anything’s missing. I can’t tell that anyone was even in here.”

“Come on,” Nick said. “Let’s leave it to the professionals. We don’t want to make life harder for them than it already is.”

* * * * *

“That’s it,” Perry said as they reached Nick’s rooms, and the door slammed shut behind them. “I’ve had it. I can’t stay here. I’ll never feel safe here again.” He began to pace, rubbing the palms of his hands nervously up and down his thighs.

“Whoa. What’s this about?” Nick reached out and grabbed Perry’s shoulder, bringing him to a stop.

Perry regarded him with those fawn-colored eyes. He looked scared and angry, and his voice shook as he said, “I don’t know what it’s about. That’s the whole trouble. But there’s something wrong here. Can’t you feel it?”

Nick was feeling something all right -- and it was most definitely wrong -- but that didn’t stop him from slowly drawing Perry toward him until their mouths were so close he could feel Perry’s quick breaths against his lips.

Perry’s mouth was pink and unsteady. He gazed up into Nick’s eyes and then lowered his lashes, relaxing in Nick’s hold. He didn’t make a move toward Nick, he just waited docilely for whatever was going to happen, to happen.

Christ, he was young. Nick tried to remember what it felt like to be that young -- he didn’t think he had ever been that young. Too young, too passive, too inexperienced.