40 Souls to Keep - 17. Chapter 17

An hour later, they were ensconced in a private room at the end of the hall on the sixth floor. Jase imagined tombs weren’t as quiet. As soon as Lucas closed the door behind the nurse, Jase’s headache backed off to a dull ache. Of course, that could have been the Toradol.

“Nighty-night,” Lucas said, waggling his fingers. “See you when the happy pills wear off.”

“Wait.” Jase tilted his head toward the bathroom. “I want a shower.”

“And I want a pony.” Lucas tucked the blankets higher. “You won’t be able to stand in a few minutes, and believe me, you won’t care how you smell.”

It was more than that. The grime and the perspiration were one thing, but the dirty feeling went deeper. The hot water wouldn’t reach that, but it would clear his mind, which Jase needed more than anything at the moment. He would’ve preferred to avoid the pain meds. Of course, Lucas had vetoed that, then hovered until the pills were safely in Jase’s stomach. Talk about a mother hen.

“The nurse said the Toradol would take about twenty minutes to kick in,” Jase said. “Plenty of time. Please,” he added, because the more he considered it, the more he wanted it. The smell of blood clung to him like a second skin. His hair was matted with it.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“No stitches, Lucas, remember? I’m clear to get wet from head to toe. Do I have to beg?”

“What if you get dizzy?”

Jase sank back to the pillow and sighed. “Then you’ll be there to help.”

Lucas’s sleepy eyes popped open. “What?”

They’d received the grand tour when the orderly had wheeled him up from the ER. Television, telephone, bathroom, pull-cord...and Jase, for all his exasperation with the delay in getting into bed, hadn’t missed the handicapped-size shower, big enough for two. He blinked innocently. “I figured you’d want to get in too.”

He’d learned enough about Lucas by now that he expected one of two answers. Either a snarky rebuttal, with some off-color humor thrown in for good measure, or genuine exasperation. Lucas surprised him.

“I’m not sure if I can,” he whispered harshly, shoulders slumped and hands clasped between his knees. “I can’t get her out of my head.”

That made two of them. “I’m not asking for that. I just want to be clean.” He sat up slowly, swinging his legs to the floor. “That’s all.”

His buttons refused to cooperate, and he was close to giving up when Lucas took over. His deft fingers worked them open in a few seconds, and Jase slipped the shirt off his shoulders. Immediately, the smell of blood diminished, and he felt better. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Lucas said, his honesty so plain that Jase’s mouth went dry. In the bathroom, he started the hot spray while Lucas shed his clothes. Lucas hummed his approval at the second showerhead, got it flowing and guided Jase to the built-in seat. “Do us all a favor. Sit.”

Gingerly, Jase leaned his head against the tile and enjoyed a lazy perusal of Lucas’s naked body. What they’d shared so far hadn’t included this—intimacy that had every right to be sexual, yet wasn’t.

Lucas’s movements began methodically—wetting a cloth, unwrapping the soap—but as soon as his hands found Jase’s shoulders, that all changed. He faltered, took a deep breath. “Glad you’re okay.”

“Mmm,” was all Jase managed as Lucas began to scrub him. The scratch of the washcloth over his chest and arms lulled him, and as steam filled the space, his eyelids drooped. Then Lucas knelt in front of him, and Jase’s lethargy vanished.

Lucas’s hands danced across his stomach, dragging the sudsy cloth over each hip, then spread soap over his legs one by one. Sedated or not, Jase found himself getting aroused as Lucas lifted each of his feet and rinsed them, then rose, soapy washcloth in hand. Watching Lucas unfold himself and stand, water dripping from his hair, his fingertips and his cock, was deeply stirring. Jase’s heart stuttered, and a flush of heat coiled in his stomach.

Lucas was hard too, but when he bent to scoop Jase up and their erections brushed, nudging together, he only sighed. He eased Jase’s head back under the spray and carded his fingers through his hair, loosening the matted blood and rinsing his scalp clean. “Am I hurting you?”

Jase had never felt better. “No,” he slurred, voice thick—okay, maybe the drugs were starting to do their magic. “Feels amazing.”

“Yeah?” Finally, a touch of humor trickled into Lucas’s voice.

“Amazing,” Jase repeated. Testing, he tilted his hips forward. Lucas answered with a deep groan, and the washcloth hit the floor with a splat.

“Stop.”

“I think you just say that word because you know how much I like it,” Jase said, feeling drunker by the second.

“You want me to act contrary?” Lucas licked the shell of his ear. “Because it’s actually my greatest talent.”

What Jase wanted was too corny to verbalize; even high as a kite he knew that. Instead of answering, he slipped his arms around Lucas’s waist and set his chin on his shoulder. “Getting sleepy.”

“I figured,” Lucas said with only a trace of exasperation. “Come on. Time for bed.”

The air outside the bathroom was arctic and cleared the steam and other fog from Jase’s head, even though his body felt warm and heavy. He fell onto the bed, shrugging into the hospital gown Lucas held up. Through sleepy eyes, he watched Lucas find his underwear, then looked on fondly as it took him three tries to get them on correctly. Lucas might as well have been drugged himself, as exhausted as he looked. “Come here,” Jase said, patting the mattress. “You’re not sleeping in that chair.”

Lucas pulled his jeans over his hips, hooked the offending orange chair with his foot and melted into it. “The hell I’m not,” he mumbled, massaging his temples. “Go to sleep.”

Every once in a while, it would have been nice to tell Lucas to do something and have him actually do it. “Sleep with me,” Jase said, yawning. A low drone had started in his ears, and a delicious warmth was spreading across his chest and down his legs. At this rate he’d be under in two minutes. Jase played his last card: he smiled. “Please.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Lucas lifted the blankets and slid in. “Oh, God,” he moaned, “you have the best ideas.”

“Feeling better?”

Lucas’s discouraged silence was answer enough.

Even so, his soft kiss to Jase’s cheek proved he was coming around. Jase felt confident he could close his eyes, sleep, and find Lucas by his side, optimism restored, when he woke.

Lucas shifted so they were facing each other and draped his arm over Jase’s hip. Being physically close soothed some of the pain. So did watching Lucas’s pulse beat steadily at his throat.

His tattoo bothered him, the ink sizzling beneath his skin, and Jase rubbed it. Was the pain a reminder of his mistake? Maybe Macy was dead. What did he know about how all this worked? Only what Philip had told him, and they hadn’t had time to get into the nitty gritty. Maybe he had failed. Maybe his punishment was to never know why.

Always be prepared, Philip had warned. Events can turn on a dime. Well, Jase would have to hope they turned again, and soon. He let the puzzle of Macy Pearl carry him into sleep, snuggling closer to Lucas once the other man’s breathing turned deep and even.

* * *

He endured the nurse’s frequent poking, which felt constant but, Jase understood, happened no more than once an hour. Sleepily, he recited his name and the date each time she woke him, groaning in relief when sometime in the early evening she said she’d reduce the frequency of her torture to once every two hours.

The doctor stopped by as promised, tripping over his feet when he found Lucas curled into Jase’s side, arm slung over his waist. Unwilling to rouse Lucas, or himself, Jase sent him away as kindly as he could and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

An indeterminable amount of time later, Lucas’s hand slipped under his hospital gown. The tip of Jase’s nose felt cold—the air-conditioning rattled away under the window—but beneath the blankets it felt too warm, just short of that scratchy, stifling heat that made him kick down the covers and welcome the cooler air onto his skin.

Lucas’s fingers cradled him, testing and weighing, teasing as perfectly as if they’d been together for three decades instead of three days. If not for the acrobatics he’d performed to get past the bunched-up material, Jase might have thought him asleep. His breathing kept a deep, steady rhythm, as steady as his stroking hand, up and down. It never changed speed, never gripped tighter, even when Jase’s panting turned heavy and loud.

This was the most they’d risked, with Macy so close. And now, with Jase hopped up on painkillers, this was all he was capable of—lying tangled with Lucas, body heavy with drugs and desire, while the other man steered him higher with gentle touches.

At one point, he thought to gather the energy to return the pleasure, but Lucas caught his clumsy, searching hand. “It’s okay,” he whispered against Jase’s lips.

The tempo never increased, even when Jase twisted pitifully in search of it. Lucas shifted, ducking his head to Jase’s throat, finally pulling faster as he licked and sucked at the tendons of Jase’s neck. Jase arched into the gentle bites, fighting his way to the top before tipping and sliding into orgasm. He stretched his fingers and toes as it hit, pulling the pleasure to the ends of his body, crying out with each spasm, voice echoing in the quiet room.

Lucas nursed him through it, rocking him back to earth. “Good?”

“Oh yeah.”

This time when he reached across to tug at Lucas’s jeans, he met no resistance. “Sorry,” Lucas breathed, helping to tug them open and down. “I know you’re—I just need—”

“I know.”

It pleased Jase to have Lucas hobbled by desire. He rolled to his side, pushing Lucas to his back and took him in hand, feeling evil as he kept to the same steady movements Lucas had. But when Lucas grabbed his wrist and held it still, Jase knew he was already close, and probably had been from the beginning.

“Talk,” Lucas rasped.

Jase smiled, ducking his head for a quick kiss. He had plenty to say. Just not the sort of things Lucas wanted to hear. “Lucas,” he whispered, “I couldn’t have got this far without you. And now I can’t even imagine trying.”

Lucas’s mouth fell open and his back arched as he came. His grip on Jase’s wrist stayed tight and possessive.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jase said when Lucas had stopped trembling. “It will be.”

Lucas didn’t argue. He didn’t speak at all, just turned into Jase’s embrace and breathed deeply against his shoulder.

* * *

When Jase next opened his eyes, the clock next to the bed read 1:18 a.m. and he felt rested and alert. Not surprising, considering they’d fallen asleep in the early afternoon. Lucas was sprawled on his stomach, legs tangled in the thin hospital sheets.

Jase managed, despite the dim light, to test his vision—closing first one eye, then the other—relieved to find it back to normal. A low throb at the base of his neck reminded him he was recovering from a concussion, but for the most part the sleep had revived him.

He stretched, and Lucas stirred. “You awake?” Jase whispered.

“Yeah.” Lucas turned onto his back, then kept going until he was facing Jase. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” In more ways than one. The Toradol had worked through his system, leaving him clear-headed and ready to tackle the mystery from a new angle. “You?”

“Good.” With a groan, Lucas sat up. “Thirsty. Think I’m going to go raid that patient fridge.”

Jase’s mouth watered. “Is that allowed?”

“If anybody looks at me funny, I’ll say it was your idea.”

“Does it make me a bad person that I’m fine with that?” He elevated the head of the bed as Jase slid into his shirt. “Bring back some soda.”

They set up a midnight picnic on the bed, the Coke and cookies Lucas had procured pouring enough sugar into Jase’s system to make him feel a tiny bit invincible, a familiar and welcome sensation. He watched Lucas spread processed cheese across his cracker, then pop it in his mouth, his disgust so thinly veiled, Jase laughed. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a food snob?”

“This isn’t food.” Lucas tossed the plastic container of crackers onto the bed. “Nor, for the record, is a box of Lucky Charms.”

“Of course not. Cardboard isn’t any good for you. And it tastes horrible.” Jase popped a handful of M&M’s into his mouth. Funny how watching Lucas frown at him from the foot of the bed made a bad situation less dire. He watched him swallow another processed-cheese-laden cracker before speaking. “We need to let Swift know the drug angle is a dead end.”

Lucas understood what wasn’t being said. They’d been together long enough for that. “Do you need to see him in person? Or does your power work over the phone?”

“Phone is fine, but getting in touch with him hasn’t been easy.”

Lucas shrugged. “At least we have the means to change his mind. If I tried to tell him he’d been chasing shadows, he’d kick my ass. All you’re going to get is a smile and first pick of the doughnut box.” He swept the empty wrappers into a pile. “I’ll call Martinez. If she doesn’t know his number, I’ll call Miami.”

Jase crunched the last of his M&M’s, pensive. Sleep had given him fresh perspective. “That meeting yesterday was...eerie. Was it that bump on my head or was Menghini being evasive?”

“How can anyone be evasive around you?”

“They can’t. That’s what I don’t understand, and the thing is...” The thing was, Menghini hadn’t been the only one to be evasive with Jase recently. “The HR guy at the Ritz—Zimmer. He was the same way.”

“How so?”

“He didn’t remember exactly why he hadn’t hired Macy’s father.”

Just another puzzle piece, as tenuous as the first, but jarring. As Jase compared the two incidents, an idea crept into his head, so shocking that he didn’t realize he’d lost his grip on his Coke until it tipped onto the sheet. Like lightning, Lucas snatched it up. “What is it?”

A cold knot of dread formed in Jase’s chest. Wobbling, he slipped off the bed and paced to the window. Cold air rushed over his face when he braced his hands over the AC unit. “Lucas.” He spun around too fast and lost his balance. Lucas caught him before he crashed into the wall.

“What the hell, Jase?”

“I think I know what’s going on.” Blindly, he reached for the orange chair, and Lucas guided him into it.

“Talk to me,” Lucas said, squatting beside him.

Jase braced his elbows on his knees. He’d been reacting to one crisis after another, never seeing the whole picture. Now the pattern was clear. What he’d been trying to tie together wouldn’t stay tied, because his assumptions—his most important assumptions—had been wrong.

They’d been manipulated from the very beginning.

“Not all of us are out to change things for the better,” Jase said.

“Care to explain that?” Lucas asked.

Jase had the inside information, but Lucas was the better critical thinker. He might be able to put it all together where Jase had failed. “Okay, listen,” Jase began. “According to Menghini, he sent his goons after Macy’s dad because he’d stolen some money. How much thievery does it take to get a man killed?”

“Menghini didn’t say.”

“Because he didn’t know.” He let that sink in, watching the comprehension dawn on Lucas’s face.

Lucas swept a hand over his mouth. “Pearl didn’t steal anything, did he?”

“No. Somebody just told Menghini that he had.”

“And he believed it?” Lucas scoffed. “Who—” He swallowed and sat back on his heels.

Yes, Jase thought, meeting his wide eyes. You have it now.

“Someone like you,” Lucas said tonelessly.

“The HR manager loved Macy’s dad but decided not to hire him. Because someone told him not to. In fact, I’m betting the exact words were ‘He’s not a good fit.’”

Lucas hoisted himself to his feet and began to pace. “But why? The drugs—”

“No, Lucas. You’re still looking at this like it’s about the drugs. It was never about cocaine.” Jase clenched his hands on the chair arms. “It’s about Macy.”

“I don’t get it. Why the elaborate scheme? She’s a defenseless child. If it was about Macy all along, why not just kill her?”

That was the question. Assuming she wasn’t dead already. The candy and soda turned sour in Jase’s stomach. If he and Lucas were dealing with somebody like himself, everything that they’d heard and seen up until this moment was circumspect. They’d have to start from scratch.

“Okay,” he said, trying to stay calm. “Okay, let’s start over. Maybe this person tried to kill her the night her parents were murdered, but she escaped. Then once the cops showed up—once you showed up—they lost their chance. They followed you to the hospital, hoping for another shot.”

“Which is where it all falls apart,” Lucas interrupted, “because it was Colin who attacked us at NSUC. Back to the drug trafficking.”

“Colin and somebody else, who apparently wasn’t Tony.” Jase threw his hands into the air. “I don’t know where the cocaine comes in. Maybe it doesn’t come in at all. Maybe these people were just told to go after her, so they did.”

“For what reason?”

“For no reason.” They wouldn’t have questioned why if Jase had asked them to.

“Why would your evil nemesis choose these guys? I mean, really?” Lucas circled the room once before leaning heavily on the metal bar running the length of the bed. “If this person is just like you, why not recruit someone off the street? They would have been just as willing, right?”

“But not as suited,” Jase reminded him. “Menghini’s people had the weapons, they knew how to use them, and they’re accustomed to eluding law enforcement.” He gave a rueful laugh. “It’s a stroke of genius, actually.”

“We’re taking shots in the dark.”

“No. Stay with me.” Jase pressed his fingers against his eyes, fighting off the budding headache. He felt on the cusp of understanding. “She escapes with us, so they try to grab her again at the police station. Menghini all but admitted that.”

“All this for one little girl?”

After everything they’d been through together, Lucas still didn’t comprehend how the threads of fate could center around one person, even a little girl like Macy Pearl. Jase had been living it for so long, he couldn’t see it any other way.

“Assume it’s all for one little girl,” he coaxed, continuing, “So they try at the police station, but we slip away again. We’re at your client’s condo for two whole days before she’s taken away from us.”

“Right, and that’s just...bizarre. Nobody could’ve known we were there.” Lucas shook his head. “And I can’t believe somebody made the connection based on my caseload. There are dozens in the past few months alone. So how did this person find her?”

Jase couldn’t help a bitter smile. “He followed his nose.”

“He?”

“Or she.” Jase shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Whoever it is, if they’re like me and Macy is their focus, then her very presence would have drawn him close.”

Lucas opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Yes, Jase thought, it’s terrifying, isn’t it? I’m terrifying.

Lucas swallowed before asking, “Why wait two days?”

“I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t gel. This person is cold enough to commit murder—twice—and thinks nothing about using the players of a local drug cartel as his pawns. Macy is one little girl. Why isn’t she already dead?”

His words hung in the air. Jase could only hope they were prophetic. “Maybe she is,” he admitted. “But I don’t think so.”

For the first time, Lucas’s eyes held a trace of hope. “You’re sure you wouldn’t feel her death?”

How many times had he asked himself the same question in the past day? Jase tried to rub away his headache. A week ago, he would have answered with an unequivocal yes. Now he wasn’t sure.

“It’s not like that, like you’re describing. It’s more...” Jase closed his eyes, searching for the best words. “It’s more like if she’s not with me, I can feel where to find her. Like I can see her across a great distance. I know exactly how to get to her side. I have no idea how that sense would be affected by her death.”

“It’s been close to twenty-four hours now,” Lucas reminded him.

Don’t think about that. “I know.”

For as short as his conversation had been with Philip all those years ago, Jase remembered every word. He’d relived the exchange in his head countless times, always glossing over that one warning—we’re not all good. He’d been too wrapped up in his private pathos to care.

Lucas broke the tense silence. “I’m going to track down Swift. We still need to talk to him, and maybe he’s heard something.”

Jase nodded. The nurse bustled in, unhappy to see him out of bed. Jase endured her fussing while Lucas dialed number after number on the bedside phone. Each time he hung up, the receiver hit the cradle with a little more force than before. With a disapproving look at Lucas, the nurse filled the water carafe and left.

“It’s four in the morning, Lucas. Did you really expect to reach anyone?”

“It’s not as though the law keeps banker’s hours.” Lucas scowled at the phone, then picked it up and dialed again. Jase’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. Lack of perseverance wasn’t something Lucas struggled with.

He escaped the tangle of sheets—the nurse had done everything she could to trap him, short of raising the metal bars—and went looking for his clothes. The jeans he’d borrowed from the condo were still wearable. There was no sign of the shirt, not that he looked too hard. It had been covered in blood. Stacked on the chair under his pants were Macy’s paintings and her mother’s diary. Jase scooped them up and carried them back to the bed, fanning the colorful drawings out in front of him. In the background, he heard Lucas asking for the non-emergency number for Miami Police.

Jase sipped the dregs of his Coke while he examined Macy’s paintings. They were predictably crude, considering her age, but the details caught his eye. In one, a mother bird hovered over a nest of chirping babies. In another, a man with a large handful of balloons handed them out to a circle of children, the colors cascading in the exact order of the rainbow. He slid it aside. The one underneath had three figures: a man, a woman and a child. The child looked like Macy, with wavy brown hair falling over one eye. She was standing at the very top of a jungle gym, arms spread wide. The woman stood below her, arms hanging at her sides. Jase’s eyes slid to the man.

“Do you need me to spell it?” Lucas asked, irritation creeping into his voice. “Gary Swift. Swift!” He rolled his eyes. “He’s a detective, for God’s sake.”

Swift. Jase’s heart gave an unpleasant thump. “Lucas,” he said, reaching blindly for the other man. He couldn’t take his eyes off the picture.

“Thanks for your help.” Lucas slammed the phone down just as the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon and spilled into the room.

Jase knew the answer but felt compelled to ask, “They’ve never heard of him?”

“I must be calling the wrong place,” Lucas said.

“No.” Jase slid the picture across the bed. “You’re calling the right place.” He pointed to the man in Macy’s picture. It was a child’s depiction, but Macy had taken care with the details, as was her habit. The man wore brown shorts stretched over a bulging belly and a baby-blue shirt. Across the front of that shirt, Macy had drawn a prancing pink dolphin.

“Fuck me,” Lucas whispered.

Jase dug through the papers for Amanda Pearl’s diary, flipping to the last several entries that they’d read together. “‘I’m lucky to have a friend,’” he recited.

Pale, Lucas said, “That’s what everyone kept saying about Swift. ‘We’re lucky to have him here.’” His hands clenched into fists. “It was him the whole time. Son of a bitch.” He swept his hand across the bed, scattering the drawings. “He’s been pulling the strings from the start.”

Jase nodded, sick. “Yes.” Another memory surfaced. “It was him. Swift was the second guy at the hospital. The one I saw outside at the café.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I told him to leave. Anyone else would have tripped over themselves to get away. He didn’t even move.”

Lucas swore colorfully. “If Swift is the ‘friend’ from the park, why didn’t Macy say so when he showed up at the scene saying he was a detective?”

“You said she was being questioned when you got there. All he would have had to do is get to her before anyone else and tell her not to remember him, and she wouldn’t have.” Jase hesitated before voicing his next thoughts. “He might have done worse, since he had the chance.”

“Worse?”

“Show her the bodies? Describe them?” He wished he could take the words back when the color drained from Lucas’s face. They didn’t speak for a long while, and Jase let the silence stretch, trying not to dwell on the images his words had invoked.

When Lucas spoke again, his voice was hoarse but even. “Your mission is to save her. What’s his? Kill her?”

Heart galloping, Jase said, “He could have done that whenever he wanted.” The odds that Macy was alive, that he could still save her, suddenly got a hell of a lot shorter. “Whatever his mission may be, he wasn’t expecting me. Or you, I’m betting.”

Lucas’s eyes snapped to his. “Do you think he knows who you are?”

Jase thought back to their initial meeting, of Swift’s hesitation in agreeing to Jase’s role as Lucas’s coworker.

“He recognized what I was, yes. But he covered it up. And no wonder he hated you. You were as immune to his influence as you are to mine. He must have been shitting himself.” Jase bent down to pick up a fallen picture. “He went out of his way to ruin Gordon Pearl’s chances at a job. I wonder if he had anything to do with him losing the first one.” He pointed to the picture in his hand—another of the park. “He’d obviously been watching them for a while.”

“But...Macy? She’s just a little kid, Jase. Maybe this isn’t about her at all.”

“It is.” Jase had never been more certain of anything.

Lucas picked through the paintings one by one. His hands clenched, crumpling the one he held. “I don’t even know where to start. Where the hell could they be?”

Jase closed his eyes, concentrated on Macy’s face, casting out for any clue, any niggle, but felt nothing. His elation died. “Anywhere. Absolutely anywhere.” He collapsed into the orange chair. The headache that had been threatening since he woke bloomed full force behind his eyes. He hid them from the rising sun.

Lucas’s arm came around his back. “Get back in bed. I’ll call for some painkillers.”

“No!” Jase jerked away. He deserved to suffer.

Lucas pointed at the bed. “Lie down while I think, okay? I can’t focus when you’re acting like a baby.” Challenging Jase with his eyes, he stabbed at the call button.

“Just Tylenol,” Jase told the nurse when she appeared. “Nothing stronger.” He quelled Lucas’s protest with a look.

Lucas gathered Macy’s pictures, smoothing the edges where they’d wrinkled. “Let’s try this from a different angle.” He sighed, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. “What if his goal was to hurt her, not kill her?”

“What would be the point of that?” But as soon as Jase said it, he answered his own question. What was the point of anything he himself had been sent to do? Not everyone he’d saved over the years was special by themselves. All he knew was that at some point, they would play a part in something larger.

Philip had never done anything more than talk to people, show them a different path. How were they supposed to know what Swift had been tasked with? Not all of us are good. He’d never dwelled on it because a small part of him hadn’t wanted to admit he could be one of those people. Had Christian grown up to be a monster? What about Harry Kearns? Had he gone on to do harm? What about all of them?

The wave of dark thoughts crashed over him, and he rolled from the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. Lucas caught him when he tripped over the threshold, steering him to the toilet just as his stomach rebelled.

“Sorry,” he said as soon as he could manage to croak out a word.

Lucas lifted him to his feet easily and turned him to the sink. Jase scooped cold water into his mouth, and when he straightened, Lucas was there with a damp washcloth. He stroked it across Jase’s cheeks and over his forehead. “Whatever freaked you out in there,” he said quietly, “you need to let it go.”

How was it they clicked so well, when Lucas ruled the practical and Jase lived the opposite? He caught Lucas’s hand against his cheek. “I’ve survived the past seven years because I believed what I was doing was good, whatever that means anymore. I even stopped caring about the why. And the who. I felt noble and special. But that’s not true, is it? I’m neither of those things. I’m just a pawn in some crazy game.”

Lucas dropped the cloth into the sink. “Life’s not black and white.”

“No,” Jase agreed. “But it’s not strategy either, is it? It’s millions of actions and reactions, and I have the power to change them.”

“I have the power to change them too.”

Jase shook his head, his wry laugh echoing harshly through the bathroom. “You only think you do.” He braced himself for Lucas’s angry denial.

Instead, Lucas said, “I haven’t given up hope. Tell me you haven’t either.”

Oh, they were so beyond lies, the two of them, with their high-and-mighty ideals and their superhero complexes. If Lucas was so cocksure, then he didn’t need Jase’s assurances. So what came out of his mouth shocked him. “I haven’t given up either.”

Lucas acknowledged that with a grim smile. “I know what our problem is,” he said, walking by Jase’s side as he shuffled back to the bed. “M&M’s aren’t brain food, and they’re no good on the stomach when you’re already nauseous.”

“I don’t know what gave you that idea.”

“The cafeteria downstairs should be open by now. Let me get us a real breakfast of...” Lucas checked inside his wallet and grimaced, “...wheat toast. Unless there’s an ATM nearby. I think there’s about ten bucks left in my account.”

Jase scooted onto the bed, unwilling to admit how good the pillow felt cushioning his head. “Then what?”

“We keep at it until we find her, one way or another. Deal?” He held his hand out. Jase took it and they shook on the morbid promise.

"Until we find her."