40 Souls to Keep - 10. Chapter 10

“Do you think that’ll ever be you?” Lucas asked. He’d spent the last part of the retelling on the floor, curling the warm wax of an apple-scented candle in toward the flame. They’d checked on Macy an hour before and had found her sound asleep.

Jase drew a deep breath as he considered. “You mean, do you think I’ll ever find another person like me? And then have to talk them down off the ledge?”

Lucas’s head snapped around. “Were you on the ledge?”

Time tempered those kinds of things, but... “Yeah, I was there.”

Lucas nodded, fingers manipulating the wax. He did it without thought, hands moving mechanically when his mind was clearly elsewhere. His face glowed, cheeks pink from the warmth of the small candle. Its flame reflected in his pale eyes and danced with each deep exhale. Drained from his monologue, Jase sprawled across the sofa and drank him in.

“So.” Lucas slid the candle away, throwing deep shadows between them. “What number is Macy?”

“Macy,” Jase said, steadier than he felt, “is number forty.”

Lucas had eased back to lean against the couch, brushing his shoulder against Jase’s leg. At the admission, he jolted. “She’s the last.”

“She’s the end.” And the beginning—or a new beginning. The sparking candle drew the confession from him. “I’ve tried not to think about it too much.” Which wasn’t a total lie. He had tried to turn his mind to other things, but it didn’t always obey. Lucas made that task easier.

“What about this power you have that makes people do what you say. Will that stay with you?”

One of the questions he’d never had a chance to ask Philip. “I don’t know.” He ran a hand across his close-cropped hair. “God, I hope not.” A bitter laugh escaped. “I might kiss the first person who argues with me.”

Lucas rested his chin in the palm of his hand, watching Jase intently. The candle sputtered as wax dripped onto the wick, but he ignored it. “Really?”

Yes. And he wanted Lucas badly enough to pick a fight. Then Lucas shifted to his knees, set his hands on Jase’s thighs, and he knew there wouldn’t be a need. Still, he couldn’t help pressing the issue. “No,” he said, testing. “Stop.”

Turned away from the candle, Lucas’s face was too shadowed to be readable. He slid his palms higher.

Jase caught his breath. “I said stop,” he repeated, voice wavering.

Lucas curled his fingers into the loose denim bunched at the top of Jase’s thighs. He shook his head once, his features lighting up briefly in the halo of candlelight.

“I mean it.”

Lucas stretched his thumbs to trace the zipper of Jase’s pants. “Do you?”

The answer wasn’t an easy yes or no. Jase tingled all over, warm and lethargic, as if he’d been lying under a blanket for too long. His legs were trapped by Lucas’s hands, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t obey him if he tried to move. His arms felt just as heavy, though his hands twitched with the desire to touch.

Not many people ever understood the distinction between lust and desire. Lust was visceral—skin, mouths and ripped clothing. It was fucking and coming. In the end, a short-term reward for a long-term problem. Desire was all in the head—a need that could turn the body inside out without a single touch. It was implication and fantasy, possibility and anticipation. Every sexual encounter in the past seven years, no matter how satiating, paled against Lucas’s fingers kneading his legs.

And soon he’d be leaving Lucas behind.

Jase caught the roaming fingers. “Stop. I’m not staying.”

“Hmm.” Lucas stilled his restless fingers but dropped back on his haunches to lay his face against Jase’s thigh. “I inferred that on my own. Soon, maybe even today depending on what happens with Macy, you’ll become someone else and leave to figure out what you left behind.”

Yes. So stop touching me. Before you ruin everything.

Telepathy failed him. Lucas turned his face against Jase’s leg and breathed hot air over the faded denim. “I know where things stand,” he said.

Jase tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Good thing someone did.

Lucas stopped talking then; he figured he’d made his point, was Jase’s guess. Sliding his mouth up the inside of Jase’s thigh, he let his thumbs go to work again, pressing on though Jase had told him to stop.

Lucas apparently didn’t like to rush, and his lazy pace sorely tested Jase’s control. Within minutes, frustration had him squirming, aching for more. He tried every nonverbal signal he knew—short of ripping his own pants off—to urge Lucas faster. Still the other man did nothing more than work him through two layers of clothing with his hands and mouth, and...fuck, yes...even his teeth.

“Please,” Jase finally begged, fumbling at the button of his jeans.

He felt Lucas smile against the damp material, then he was gone. Jase gasped at the rush of cold air, but watching Lucas rise up in front of him brought all the heat back. Presented with the thick bulge of Lucas’s cock so close, Jase couldn’t resist.

Lucas smacked his hand away when he reached for it. “You’re not the only one riding the edge. Back off.”

Jase rubbed his stinging hand, heat coiling between his legs. “Would you come here, please?” he grated out, yanking his jeans off. “And close Macy’s door, for God’s sake.”

“Since you asked so nice.” Lucas slid away into the dark, and Jase heard the snick of a door latch. Lucas returned, unsnapping and slithering out of his own jeans, giving Jase the barest hint of black briefs, filled and straining outward, before he settled on the sofa, straddling Jase’s lap. “Better?”

“Almost.” Jase yanked him down for a kiss, growling in approval when Lucas went lax on top of him.

“Want to touch you everywhere,” Jase breathed in his ear. “Everywhere.”

Lucas’s body jolted. Panting, he lowered his forehead to Jase’s chest.

Encouraged, Jase slid his hands beneath Lucas’s briefs, urging him closer. “Everywhere, Lucas. Inside and out. Want to know how you taste.”

Lucas gasped. His thighs clamped tight around Jase’s, and he shuddered. “Keep talking.”

Such urgency in his voice. That kind of raw need threatened Jase’s plans for something slow and tender. He pulled Lucas down, resting their foreheads together, and lifted his hips, seeking pressure and friction. Lucas grunted and took over, rocking into Jase fast and hard while he begged under his breath. “Talk to me.”

He could talk all night if Lucas liked it so much. He leaned up for a kiss, licking into Lucas’s mouth. “I want it all, baby. Want to feel your fingers opening me up, your cock filling me ’til I can’t breathe. Need you to fuck me.”

Lucas trembled. His breath washed over Jase’s cheek. “Yeah? Hard?”

“As hard as you can. Through this fucking couch.”

Lucas’s mouth opened wide, and he stabbed his hips forward with enough force to drive some of the air from Jase’s lungs. Dizzy, Jase reveled in the strong pulses and the wet heat spreading over his own straining erection, ignoring the small voice in his mind telling him wait, wait. He didn’t want to wait, didn’t have the willpower, not with this man. Moaning, Lucas gave one final weak thrust, and Jase met it, letting the orgasm break over him. Lucas helpfully covered Jase’s mouth with his own, smothering the sharp cry and the chorus of small moans that followed.

They kissed for a long time, and Jase found himself sliding from one sort of breathlessness into another. He might easily sleep like this, with Lucas’s heavy warmth covering him. Protecting him.

Macy’s scream stole his sated warmth in a heartbeat. Lucas started, then rolled off, landing on his feet on the floor beside the sofa. He had his jeans on and was across the room, bursting through Macy’s door, before Jase could struggle to sit up.

“Macy!” Lucas called, then more softly, “Shh. It’s okay.”

Another scream pierced the room, followed by sobbing. Jase grabbed his own discarded jeans, lifted his hips and yanked them up. The room did a lazy spin when he stood, and his knees trembled in plain warning that they weren’t ready to take his weight, but he soldiered through, steadying himself on the coffee table as he rounded the couch. Four long strides brought him to the bedroom door, where he found Lucas rocking a crying Macy. Jase sat on the opposite side of the bed. “She okay?”

Lucas stroked her hair. “Just a nightmare, I think.”

No great surprise there. With everything the kid had been through, they were lucky that nightmares were the worst they had to deal with. He scooted closer, then when Lucas didn’t protest, even closer, until Macy was sandwiched between them. She sniffed and turned to snuggle into Jase’s one-armed embrace.

“Do you want to tell us about the dream?” Jase asked, folding her tiny hand in his.

“Alligators,” she whispered.

Lucas shuddered. “There are no alligators here right now.”

“Yes, there are.” She turned tearstained eyes to his face. “They’re going to take me away to a dark place.”

The hair on the back of Jase’s neck stood on end. “We’re not going to let that happen,” he promised.

Macy’s long sigh sounded too resigned for his liking, her voice too mechanical. “You can’t stop it. Everything’s dark. People have no more hope. And the alligators cry, but they’re not really sad. They’re just trying to trick us.”

Foreboding slicked through him, but Jase brushed her words aside. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Macy.” He hoped it was a promise he could keep.

He left Lucas to coax Macy back to sleep, swinging the door to the bedroom wide so the candle’s light chased away some of the darkness, and returned to the couch. It was long and deep, perfect for their activities a few minutes ago and just as perfect for sleeping. Its soft, buttery leather felt cool against Jase’s skin as he scooted up against the cushions. The throw Macy had used was draped across the back, and he eased it down over himself to chase away the chill her words had caused. Grogginess took over as he watched Lucas tuck Macy in and tiptoe out of the bedroom.

Lucas edged back toward the couch and stood over it for a long time, expressionless. Jase stayed silent but watchful.

“Want some company?” Lucas finally asked, swaying a little.

“Yeah.” Jase lifted the corner of the throw. Lucas slid beneath, and they pressed together.

“This feels like heaven,” Lucas purred.

Jase bit back his response, which had sprung from his heart and was completely inappropriate, and answered instead by throwing an arm over Lucas’s waist. “Is this okay?” he asked, hoping the flippant tone hid how much he wanted it.

“More than okay,” Lucas mumbled against his throat, then shimmied around until his back was to Jase’s front. “Probably too okay.”

Simple words for such an astute observation, but that was Lucas. They had ample room as long as neither one of them tried to spread out, something Jase had no desire to do with Lucas snuggled against his side. Stifling a sigh, Jase nuzzled the back of his neck. “Good night.”

“Here’s hoping.”

People have no more hope, Macy had said. Jase disagreed, but what difference did that make, when forces he couldn’t put a name to jerked him around like a well-trained dog? His own hope was a fragile thing, held afloat by a past he’d moved on from long ago. It could shatter at any moment. Yet the man in his arms was strong and competent and full of possibility.

Jase had no idea what was real anymore.

***

Lucas woke knowing someone was watching him; the air held a touch of expectation and stirred gently on his face. He sent up a quick prayer, promising all the usual things—less sleeping around, more church on Sunday—if it could be Jase and not Macy.

“Lucas?” Her voice was right in his ear. She had to be standing less than a foot away.

“Hey, Macy.” He cracked an eye open while trying to act casual about Jase’s stiff cock nestled against his ass. “You okay?” he croaked, rubbing the grit from his eyes.

Jase stirred, tilting his hips forward in a sleepy stretch, and made a muffled, appreciative sound. Lucas bit the inside of his cheek. “Lucas?” Jase muttered in a sleep-thick voice.

Macy fingered the ribbon on the front of her princess nightgown. “I’m hungry.”

The professional side of Lucas sat up and took notice of that. “That’s great,” he said, meaning it. She’d had little appetite the day before. Hunger meant her mind was working through the trauma, balanced enough to send the proper signals to the rest of her body. “What would you like?”

“Lucky Charms.”

Lucas hadn’t been happy to see the red box with the leprechaun come home with Jase. He wasn’t a health freak or anything, but a balanced diet fed the mind as much as it fed the body. With so many of his kids battling emotional trauma of one sort or another, he’d come to rely on the power of the food pyramid.

“What are you talking about? It’s not junk food,” Jase had scoffed, pointing to the side of the box. “Nineteen essential vitamins and minerals. More than you could stuff into a home-cooked meal.”

Lucas ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek while he pretended to study the box. “You’re kidding, right? Wait,” he ordered when Jase looked innocently indignant, “don’t answer that.” He’d placed the Lucky Charms in the pantry...far back in the pantry.

Now Macy lifted her hand, which had been dangling out of sight, revealing the offending box of cereal. Was it him or was that freaky leprechaun flashing the most lecherous grin he’d ever seen. And this was a product aimed at children?

She shook it, the marshmallow rattle causing Jase to stir once more. “And I want the prize too. Please,” she added, a clear afterthought.

Behind him, Jase lifted up on an elbow. “Yum,” he said. “The rainbow marshmallows are my favorite.”

Bristling, Lucas turned a glare on his bedmate.

Then Macy grinned, and Lucas forgave him.

* * *

“I don’t think we can put it off any longer,” Lucas said later, watching Macy pace the tiny condo. She stopped at every mirror to admire her sparkly jeans and purple T-shirt. “We can’t stay here forever with the shutters closed, hoping nobody notices.”

Jase grunted and scooped more Lucky Charms into his mouth. He and Lucas had retreated to the kitchen, which, while open to the rest of the living space, gave them at least an illusion of privacy. Lucas sat on the countertop next to the sink, and Jase hunched over the banquette, shoveling cereal into his mouth like the Apocalypse was imminent.

“What do you propose?” Jase asked between mouthfuls.

Lucas caught a glance of the sky-blue-colored milk at the bottom of Jase’s bowl and made a face. “I propose you let me cook you a meal designed for grown-ups.” Watching the bright chunks of marshmallow disappear into Jase’s mouth was enough to turn the strongest of stomachs.

Jase paused mid-chew. “Something hot?”

Perish the thought. Lucas hopped down and went looking for a pan. “Let’s go crazy. I’ll make scrambled eggs and toast.” Not fancy, but filling. Besides, Jase looked as if he needed the protein as much as Macy did. Lucas began rifling through the fridge for what he needed. “Honestly, I have no idea what to do. I’ve been trying to come up with a better solution, but my brain keeps circling back to Swift. At the very least, I need to let him know Macy is safe. And Jesus, I’ve got to call my boss. Not that she’ll have any practical advice, but still.” Connie was all for self-motivated employees, but this situation had gone a little above and beyond. Lucas could send up a little prayer that Swift hadn’t called her first, but the odds of that were slim.

Jase shook his head, but at least he’d abandoned his breakfast marshmallows. Lucas snatched the bowl away and dumped the remnants down the garbage disposal.

“I don’t like it,” Jase said. “There’s got to be someone in the investigation passing information to whoever’s after Macy. How else could they know we’d be at the police station, and before that, at the hospital? Swift’s new in town, making snap judgments on who’s trustworthy and who isn’t. There’s no way he can have his finger on the pulse of that department. One word to the wrong person, and we’re back to where we started. And the same goes for your boss. Who is she talking to? Did she know which hospital you were going to that night?”

She had known. Lucas let the thought rattle through his mind before banishing it. “No way. Not Connie.”

“I’m not saying she’d do anything to hurt you or Macy on purpose. It could have been inadvertent.”

“Maybe.” Lucas cracked eggs into a bowl. “But if not them, then who?” He was more than willing to consider other opinions. And if he continued to direct his energies to this problem, he wouldn’t have to think about what Jase’s continued presence meant for Macy. This blind precognition, the knowledge that she would be hurt at some point, soon, despite his every effort to prevent it, was a bitter pill to swallow.

“No idea,” Jase said, “but I don’t like just sitting here either. It feels passive.”

The words stung and also concerned him. Jase wanted to stir up trouble? In order to what?

“Hoping to wrap things up as soon as possible?” Lucas attacked the eggs with a fork, beating them quickly, doing his best to ignore the thick silence that had descended. It didn’t take long for self-disgust to tip the scales of his conscience. “Shit, that was low.” He slammed the bowl onto the counter. “Sorry.”

Jase’s guarded answer gave Lucas little to work with. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

That self-deprecating tone had crept back, the one Lucas had come to hate, probably for the touch of condescension it held. “You know what?” He grabbed the bowl and slopped eggs into the pan. They sizzled. “Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t be.”

He turned, prepared for battle, but Jase’s lopsided smile disarmed him.

“Okay,” Jase said. “I won’t.” He pushed back from the banquette, joining Lucas at the stove to watch him cook. His fingers danced over Lucas’s spine. “It’s screwed up, this whole situation, but I promise, I promise you, I’ll be there when Macy needs me.”

The man was far too accustomed to this insanity. Lucas blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s that she’s going to need you that’s freaking me out.” He ripped a piece of American cheese into strips and laid it across the top of the bubbling eggs.

“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Lucas bit his tongue to keep from speaking. Not a single thing about this situation was fair.

After breakfast, Lucas borrowed a floppy fishing hat from the owner’s closet and trekked, head down, the half mile to the shopping center. Jase had fussed about Lucas leaving, but they really had no choice. They’d stood in the garage staring at Martinez’s car for five minutes before deciding to leave well enough alone.

“I’ll walk,” Lucas said. “It’s not far.”

Jase pursed his lips and kept his thoughts to himself.

At the Kmart, Lucas used the ATM, cringing the whole time, then bought a pay-as-you-go cell phone and found a deserted bench to make his call, using the non-emergency number for the Naples Police Department. After tripping his way through six different menus, he reached a flesh-and-blood person, even if she sounded half dead. “Naples Police.”

“I’m trying to reach Detective Gary Swift,” Lucas said. An elderly couple strolled by, hand in hand. Lucas slunk down, tugging the hat lower over his face. He didn’t remember signing on for this kind of clandestine activity when he took his job. If he made it through alive—he could still joke about that, for now—he’d amend his resume to include survives surprise ninja attacks and honest-to-God shootouts. Recruiters would either eat it up or run away screaming.

“Sorry.” The operator was back. “I have no Detective Swift listed.”

“Oh. He’s a, uh, transfer? Is that the word for it?” He pictured her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. “From Miami,” Lucas added.

“Sorry,” the operator said again, sounding anything but. “I don’t have a listing for a Detective Gary Swift.”

And it wasn’t her problem, she left unsaid. “Thanks,” Lucas replied, making sure there was no missing how little he meant it. “To protect and to serve,” he drawled under his breath, dialing another number, this one from memory.

“Hello?”

“Scott,” Lucas said. “Hey, how are you?”

“Hey,” Scott said, voice going soft. “I didn’t recognize the number.”

“Uh, yeah. Don’t pass it around, okay?” He stood and moved off when a group of girls took over the bench beside him. They seemed more interested in how one shade of pink nail polish ruled over the other, but Lucas wasn’t taking any chances. “Listen, remember the double homicide on Thursday?”

“Kind of hard to forget,” Scott mumbled. “I—” The rest got lost in the flushing of a toilet. Lucas waited for the sound of rushing water to die, smiling to himself. He could count on one hand the number of times they’d spent the whole night together—God forbid anyone saw Lucas leaving Scott’s apartment in the broad daylight—but the few he remembered had followed a defined script. Scott would go for caffeine next.

On cue, Scott’s fancy one-cup coffee machine whirred to life. “You still there?” he asked.

Lucas realized he’d missed a question. “Yeah, sorry. I lost you for a moment.”

Clink. Rattle. Hiss. “I asked if you were busy tonight.”

Well, maybe a little. Being on the run was hell on the social life. “Yeah, I am.” Maybe we can do something over the weekend, he almost said, but bit it back. The future was suddenly a fragile thing. He closed his eyes, trying to recall the taste of Scott’s skin, or how he liked to be kissed, or any detail that would prove he was still into the guy, but all his brain coughed up was an image of Jase writhing beneath him on the leather sofa.

“Oh,” Scott said succinctly.

Lucas swallowed against a rush of guilt. He owed Scott the truth, but need would have to trump honesty until Macy was safe. He couldn’t afford to alienate one of the only people he trusted. “Sorry,” he said. “This case is a killer.” He snapped his mouth shut on the last word. “And that’s another reason I called.”

“Yeah?” Wariness entered Scott’s voice.

“You remember the lead detective from the other night?”

“Not offhand.”

“He was wearing a turquoise shirt with Flipper on the front.” Lucas thought about adding a few more details—Boss Hogg hat, trick pants—but Scott cut him off.

“Oh yeah. Detective Swift. Martinez introduced us. Kind of abrupt, but a decent enough guy. He freaked out at the techs about their lack of respect for the victims. I thought that was kind of cool.”

Abrupt, but decent. That was Lucas’s emerging impression as well. He snapped his fingers. “That’s him.”

“He’s over here from Miami. I guess things got hot over there with one of his cases, and they wanted him to relocate. For his own safety, you know?”

“How very considerate of them,” Lucas said. With that wardrobe, he probably got shot at on a regular basis.

“Yeah, they don’t know what they gave up, if you ask me. The guy knows what he’s doing.”

Did Swift pass out fivers in exchange for compliments? Lucas has shared Scott’s bed for months and hadn’t racked up so many attaboys. “Okay, whatever.” Not exactly neutral, but not inflammatory either. He didn’t want to insult Scott’s new best friend. “I need to get a hold of him, and I’m having the damnedest time. Nobody’s answering at the Seventh Avenue station, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Scott echoed.

“So do you have any idea where he’s parking his dolphin these days? I was thinking the Vanderbilt Road station, maybe.”

“I’m not sure, but I can probably find out for you. He said to get in touch if I needed him for anything.”

Lucas blinked. “He did? What for?”

Silence echoed back, then the sound of slurping. Lucas’s mouth watered, imagining the steaming cup of coffee that was the other part of that equation. After a few seconds, Scott said, “In case I needed him for anything?”

Lucas shook his head. “Twisted. Okay, yeah. It would be a big help if you could find out where I could reach him. But do me a favor?”

“Okay.”

Lucas bit his lip at the suspicious tone, but it didn’t surprise him—the kid wasn’t stupid, just closeted. “Don’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. It’s personal.”

“Even Connie?”

Shit. “Why? Is she looking for me?”

“I—I don’t know. I just figured...she’s your boss, right?”

Lucas winced. She was, and wasn’t one to let him forget it. “Don’t worry about Connie. Calling her is the next item on my agenda. And thanks for your help.”

Scott’s voice warmed. “No problem, Lucas. Give me about an hour. If I don’t have any luck on the phone, I’ll run by the Vanderbilt station and see what info I can dig up for you. Can I call you back on this number?”

“You bet. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Lucas closed the phone, frowning. Taking advantage of Scott put a bitter taste in his mouth, but it couldn’t be helped. Before he talked himself out of it, he dialed Connie’s direct line. He prayed for voicemail, and for once, got his wish.

“Hey, Connie,” he sang after the beep. “It’s Lucas. Remember the case you called me about a couple of nights ago? Macy Pearl? Things have turned...complicated. But I’ve got her. She’s safe, and I’m working with the police to keep her that way. Sorry I can’t tell you more. Hopefully this incident won’t tarnish my perfect performance record.” He paused. “And I hope you found that joke just a little bit funny. Okay, I’ll call when I can. Thanks for everything.” He caught his breath at the inadvertent, implied goodbye. “See you soon.”

He clicked the phone shut and started down the shaded walkway of the strip mall, toward the Starbucks, and was close enough to smell the ground beans when his phone rang. Lucas answered it without checking the number, sliding through the door and into line. “Hey Scott. That was quick.”

“Yeah, that’s one of my talents,” Swift said. “Quick and dirty.”

Lucas sidestepped out of the queue. He’d been caught off guard enough in the past forty-eight hours that his adrenaline pump should be empty, but he still had to concentrate on deep breaths and happy thoughts for several seconds while his heartbeat calmed. Maybe he hadn’t been expressly clear with Scott, but he’d thought the point had come across. Discretion. Fucking Christ, the kid should understand the concept.

“Hey,” Lucas said, failing to wring all the anger from his voice.

“Don’t be mad at your friend,” Swift said, clipped and efficient. “He’s only trying to protect you. I convinced him we needed to talk, pronto.”

Pronto? Next Swift would make a crack about circling the wagons.

“You there, Jacobson?”

“I’m here,” Lucas said, threading his way back to the counter. “House blend,” he mouthed to the barista.

She held her hands up, palms facing each other, spreading them in varying degrees, and Lucas’s mind went, rather inappropriately, somewhere it shouldn’t have. He spread his hands as far apart as they could go, but frankly, there wasn’t enough coffee in the world.

“Is Macy okay?” Swift asked. “What about you and your friend?”

Lucas accepted his cup and handed over a five-dollar bill. “Fine. What about everyone there? There hasn’t been much in the news.”

“What a cluster. I’ve got three officers in the hospital—one gunshot, two smoke inhalation.” He blew out a breath. “We were lucky. No one’s dead. You’ve got the kid and she’s safe. It could be worse.”

Lucas silently agreed. It could always be worse.

“The media is scratching at my door like a stray dog. It’s only a matter of time before the story breaks, and you’ll be reading about it on goddamn Yahoo!”

What was the story? Lucas pocketed his change and pushed through the door into a wall of muggy air. “So now what? You want us to come in?” Was that even the right term? Lucas rubbed at the ache developing at the base of his neck.

Swift surprised him. “No. Stay put. Keep your head down. Don’t tell anyone where you are.”

Lucas skidded to a stop fast enough that scalding coffee splashed over his hand. He screamed a thousand profanities in his head and bent at the waist, trying not to cry. The coffee dripped away, but the burn still felt like a stab wound.

“Are you okay?” Swift asked.

The hair on the back of Lucas’s neck stood on end. All his willpower went into his nonchalant reply. “I said I was fine. Why?” Keeping his face lowered, he scanned the parking lot.

“Why? Really, Jacobson? You mean to tell me that after the last two days you’re fine? Most men would be pissing their pants by now. But, despite my initial impression, you’ve held it together like a pro. I hate to admit it, but I’m impressed. And...I might as well eat crow like a grown-up—I’m glad the kid’s with you.”

Lucas dabbed his hand on his jeans, swallowing on a dry throat. For a moment, he’d been sure Swift could see him. That he’d been watching. Instead, the guy was just worried about him. Hello, paranoid.

“I’m holding it together, thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said, cradling his hand to his chest. The skin felt eerily on fire, and the hot sun wasn’t helping. Ten in the morning, and the air had already begun to steam.

“No need to get pissy,” Swift said. “Can I reach you on this number?”

It made sense for Swift to ask, so why did the cell phone suddenly feel like Tolkien’s One Ring? “Sure thing. Whenever you want to hear my voice,” Lucas assured him.

“Good. Keep it close.” Swift disconnected, and Lucas stopped at the next trash can to deposit the phone. It hurt, watching it disappear and clunk to the bottom, but Lucas couldn’t get past Jase’s conviction that Swift was trusting the wrong people.

He headed for home, sweat beading on his brow and neck. He’d used the last of the cash in his account to buy the phone, but Jase could always get another one if they needed it. The thought comforted him, when it should have turned his stomach.

How long did it take a person to lose all their moral fiber. A week? A month? Or was it even measured in time at all? He had no idea.

He just wanted to live long enough to find out.