State of Mind - 9. Chapter 9

American suburbia: a combination of prosperity and debt, little league and little affairs, and young people living old dreams. Grier hated it. He couldn't deny, however, its suitability as a hiding place. How fortunate that Aleck's friend and her husband wallowed here.

His concern for Aleck grew with each passing mile. He was slumped against the door, arm curled over the bandage Grier had pressed against the wound. Shallow, wheezing gasps came far too infrequently for Grier's taste. An hour ago, Aleck had given up the ruse that the injury was superficial and opted for petulant silence. To preserve some of the boy's dignity, Grier let him pretend.

He swung his eyes back to the road, slowing the car as he turned onto the Baptiste's street for the third time. Cruising the block would rouse suspicion sooner or later. He'd already made two passes by the house, and though another was prudent, he couldn't risk it. Aleck was getting worse.

Grier slowed the car and pulled to the curb in front of the Baptiste's home, a sprawling cookie-cutter colonial with a white picket fence. A generous covered porch was trimmed out in white railings and gingerbread molding. He glanced around at the few close neighbors, taking in their similar snow-white dwellings, and shook his head.

He put the car in park and killed the lights. Regardless of what Aleck thought of these people, Grier didn't trust them. He needed to be cautious, and dragging a gunshot victim onto the porch to bleed all over that pristine white wood wouldn't make the best first impression. He leaned across the seat and cupped Aleck's cheek in his hand. "Aleck." Aleck's eyelids fluttered. He groaned but gave no sign he knew where he was. Grier's jaw clenched at the lines of pain etched into his face. "Aleck," he said again, louder this time. Aleck opened his eyes and blinked.

"Are we there?" he croaked. He shifted to look out the window, but Grier held him still.

"Yes," he said. "I'll be right back."

"I should go. Talk to Amelia."

"No." Grier stroked his thumb over Aleck's cheek. "Stay here. Moving will aggravate the injury, and you can't stand to lose more blood."

"But—"

"Don't move."

Aleck's eyes slid shut at the rebuke. "Yes, Mother."

Grier climbed out and started up the front walk. A motion lamp clicked on, bathing the porch in yellow light, and he paused before cursing and climbing the last two steps to the front door. He cast his senses out, but besides the orange cat slinking through the rose bushes, he found nothing. He wasn't being watched, proving his agitation wasn't due to any threat, but rather to the man bleeding to death inside their stolen car.

No one answered the doorbell, and Grier frowned. He heard snatches of thoughts and conversation from within; the house wasn't empty. He rang again, twice, and a moment later heavy footsteps approached. Grier braced himself as a tall, red-haired man yanked the door open. His eyes raked Grier head to toe. "May I help you?" he asked, voice brusque.

"I hope so," Grier answered. "I'm looking for Amelia Baptiste."

Henri Baptiste was as Aleck described: imposing, with a thick head of ginger hair and a beard to match. He wore a cabled cardigan over a dress shirt and tan Dockers. At Grier's words, he stepped over the threshold and set his hands on his hips. "May I ask why?"

Grier sighed. Seeking help here had been a mistake. He'd thought about healing Aleck on his own, but his skills were inadequate to the task. He couldn't remove a bullet with his mind, no matter how much he wanted to. "I'm here on behalf of a friend. A Mr. Aleck Devlin."

Baptiste drew back, inhaling sharply. Grier tensed. "And would that be Aleck's blood all over you, sir?" Baptiste asked.

Grier glanced down at his shirt, noticing the dark red blotches that covered a fair portion of its front. He raised his eyes until they met Baptiste's. "It is," he admitted.

"Henri? Who is it?" A woman bustled forward and ducked under Baptiste's arm. The top of her head barely brushed the middle of his chest. She slid her reading glasses up over her forehead as she squinted at Grier. Cut into a fashionable bob, her black hair accentuated her milky skin and dainty features. "Who are you?"

Baptiste stepped in front of her, but she shouldered in front again, and he settled for a restraining hand on her arm. "This man is here about Aleck, or so he says."

Grier let his silence answer for him.

Amelia focused on his stained shirt. "Where is he? Where is Aleck?"

Grier looked over his shoulder to the car idling at the curb. He wasn't shocked when Amelia gasped and tried to rush past. She was too fast for her husband, but Grier caught her by the hand. "Wait."

She rounded on him like an angry cat, eyes blazing. "Is he dead?"

"No." Grier glanced up and down the street. "But I doubt you want your neighbors to see him in his current condition."

"That's our driveway, there." Baptiste pointed and stepped forward to take Amelia. She struggled, but this time he held tight. "Pull back by the garage. There's a door there that leads to my home office." His instructions were matter-of-fact, but his voice was cold. Grier didn't take it personally.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Baptiste steered Amelia inside. "I'll meet you in back."

Grier ran down the sidewalk to the car and slipped behind the wheel. Aleck was unconscious again. Fresh blood had leaked over his hand where he held the makeshift bandage. Grier jerked the car into gear and coasted up the curved driveway. An addition with its own covered porch and private entrance extended behind the main house, and he parked beside it. Baptiste was at the passenger door before he'd shut off the engine, opening it and catching Aleck's limp body when it slid forward. Behind him, Amelia cried out. "Get the door, Amy," he ordered.

He hoisted Aleck into his arms and carried him up the steps and inside. Grier lingered, eyes scanning the darkness, but high hedges hid the yard from neighbor's prying eyes. So far, so good.

He locked the car and trudged up the steps into the office. Amelia was drawing the blinds when he came in. Aleck and Baptiste were nowhere in sight, though Grier heard the faint echo of movement in the room beyond. He helped Amelia until all four windows were covered, then stood in the center of the room and let her glare at him. He couldn't say the slap, when it came, was unexpected. "I suppose you think you don't deserve that," she spat, backing away, small chest heaving.

Grier touched his stinging cheek. "I do."

She deflated, then turned and buried her face in her hands. "Why?" she asked, voice muffled. "Why does he do this?"

An excellent question with many answers, but Grier wouldn't speak for Aleck. She spun back. "Are you reading my mind right now?"

"No."

"Prove it."

He couldn't. All he had was a code of ethics he followed to the letter and a measure of honor. Neither of those things would impress her. Grier sank onto a padded seat, exhausted. "I can't." And he didn't care. His concern was for Aleck, not what this woman thought of him.

Again the anger seemed to leave her, but even Grier, who wasn't empathic in the least, sensed her lingering distress. She was trembling, in mild shock. He reached for her hand. "Please. Would you check with your husband for me? I'd like to know if Aleck is all right."

She frowned at their joined fingers, then nodded. "I don't know your name."

"It's Grier."

"I'm Amelia." She sniffed, gave his hand a loose shake, then let go.

Grier smiled. "I know."

With that fragile peace between them, she turned, tapped a quiet knock on the exam room door, and slipped inside. Grier heard her ask a muffled question. Baptiste's rumbling baritone answered, and a moment later, the door opened, and Baptiste joined him in the waiting room. He chose a chair close by and settled into it with a sigh. Red spatters dotted his cardigan and pants.

Grier tore his gaze away from the blood. "How is he?"

"Stable. For now. I'm a bit worried about infection, but the wound is straightforward and there was little serious damage. Some torn muscle, blood loss." He folded his hands in his lap. "What can you tell me about what happened?"

Grier hesitated. "What do you need to know?"

"Any additional information would be useful."

There was just enough truth in the statement that Grier couldn't outright call Baptiste a liar. He answered with his own half-truths. "The less I tell you, the better."

Baptiste snorted. "For who?"

"For all of us."

"Grier, is it?" Baptiste abandoned his pose of disinterest and leaned forward. "Amelia told me your name."

Grier shrugged.

"I've learned over the years to not question Aleck. He's a good friend. An extraordinary friend, but I know just slightly more about him than I do about you. Do you find that strange?"

"I find it unsurprising."

"I thought you might." Baptiste glanced to the closed door of the exam room. "I don't ask unnecessary questions, and I won't start now. For his safety, I need to know as much as you can tell me about how he was shot."

Saying he stepped in front of a bullet meant for Grier would be imprudent, nor was it important clinically, but the information was on the tip of his tongue, along with the sharp taste of guilt. Grier swallowed it back. "It was a rifle."

"I figured that for myself. Approximate range?"

Grier replayed the scene in his head. "A hundred yards maybe."

"How long ago?"

"Three hours." Grier began to relax.

"I'll refrain from asking why you didn't go to the ER, although I'd like to know what your plans had been if you hadn't been able to come to us."

Not a medically relevant question. Grier ignored it and volleyed with, "We were on our way here, as it happens."

To this, Baptiste laughed. "I don't believe it. Aleck treats Amelia with kid gloves. He never comes unless it's safe. Never. That much I do know about him." He pinned Grier with a narrowed gaze.

"I'll have to let Aleck tell the rest. He has some questions for you. And a favor."

Baptiste blew out a breath. "Things must be dire."

Not for Grier, but he wasn't the one with a hole in his side. More guilt washed up his throat, and Baptiste's next words didn't help.

"He has a contusion. Here." Baptiste pressed a finger to a spot on the back of his head. "Can you explain that?"

Grier stifled the urge to laugh. "Glass ashtray. That was a couple of days ago." He noticed Baptiste didn't blink at the remark.

"Did he receive treatment for that?"

I stuffed him in a trunk. Grier winced. "Rudimentary."

"It looks bad enough to have caused a concussion. Has he been nauseous, suffering headaches?"

Yes, as a matter of fact, but Grier had assumed they were symptoms of mental trauma, not physical. Fuck. No wonder Aleck had been popping his pills like candy. Grier swiped a hand over his face, forgetting he hadn't answered Baptiste until the man spoke again.

"Are you injured?"

Grier took measure of Baptiste's tone before answering. "No."

"Relax. I'm not going to poison you. You weren't the one who pulled the trigger." He paused. "Were you?"

"No." He'd considered it though, not all that long ago. Something else he wouldn't mention. The thought of hurting Aleck now felt foreign. "May I see him?"

Baptiste stroked his beard, then nodded. He motioned to the door.

The room was dim and smelled of disinfectant. Real wood cabinets instead of laminate erased some of the impersonal feel of the space. The tools of Baptiste's trade were well hidden in frosted glass jars and behind cupboard doors, and the walls were painted a light sage green. Grier avoided the trail of blood droplets spread across the wood floor and stepped close to Aleck's bed.

Amelia sat at his side, his big hand clasped her in tiny one. Her eyes were shiny with tears, but she wasn't crying. She ignored Grier, and he took the hint. Without a word, he hooked the rolling stool with his foot, pulled it alongside the bed, then sat. Aleck's chest rose and fell with steady, unlabored breaths, his face lax with whatever pain medication Baptiste had pumped into him. His filthy clothes were gone, but trails of dried blood still decorated his chest and stomach.

Grier fetched a washcloth from beside the sink, wet it, then began to wipe the blood from his skin, but Amelia stayed his hand. "Let me." She pried the cloth away. "Please."

He gave in, but kept a close watch as she worked, humming approval at her thoroughness. "You've done this before. Do you have children?"

She made a sound low in her throat, then shook her head. She didn't elaborate, and Grier didn't ask her to. "I've been helping Henri with his patients for years." She paused, cloth hovering over a smudge of dried blood. "I've never had to do this for Aleck though."

Was that censure in her tone? He refused to probe her thoughts, not after being accused of doing so earlier. He'd thought her anger had been for him alone. Now he wondered. "He cares for you. Your safety has always been his paramount concern."

"More paramount than his own, I happen to know. There've been a few times—" She went to rinse the cloth. "Never mind. The more he visits, the greater chance someone will find a connection between us. That's what he says."

"He's telling the truth."

Amelia nodded. "He never did want me in his world."

"It was for your own protection."

She sniffed and started to reply when Aleck stirred. His head rolled toward Grier's side of the bed, and his eyes fluttered open. Grier leaned in. "Aleck?"

Aleck gave a lopsided smile. "Wow. I feel great."

Grier ignored Amelia's soft trill of laughter. "You're full of painkillers."

"So—"Aleck lifted a shaky hand, and Grier took it. "I should keep my mouth shut before I say something I'll regret? Hey, you know what—?"

"Take your own excellent advice," Grier said. "Don't speak."

Aleck's grin got wider. "Okay, but… thanks."

"For letting you get shot?"

"For getting me here. I was starting to feel like shit."

Grier bit his tongue until his eyes watered. He set Aleck's hand aside and pushed back. The stool rolled away. "You were starting to look like shit. Go to sleep." He pushed the suggestion, just a little.

Aleck sighed. "Okay." When his breathing had evened out, Grier indulged in his own examination, stealing into Aleck's mind to check his condition. Baptiste had called him stable, and Grier found nothing to contradict that. He withdrew, relieved.

Across the table, Amelia stared at him with new eyes. "Forgive me. I didn't realize."

Knowing it was a mistake, Grier asked, "Didn't realize what?"

"I thought you were just another one of those people. I didn't realize you were friends."

Friends. Denying it made little sense at this point. Grier's face twisted into a scowl. Next thing, Aleck would assume Grier was an active member in his little crusade. "We're acquaintances," Grier snapped.

Amelia clucked her tongue and resumed sponging Aleck clean. "Aleck doesn't let people get close."

He'd known that, on some level. Just not the reason behind it.

"That's why I know you're more than acquaintances. He touched you."

Grier rolled his eyes. "He's higher than a kite."

"God, you are so like him," Amelia said under her breath. She made one final swipe across Aleck's neck, then set the cloth aside. She patted him dry with a soft towel, and Grier pulled the sheet up over his chest. Together, they stood over his bed, watching him breathe until Amelia shook herself. "Are you hungry? I've got the remnants of our dinner, if you're interested."

"Coffee," Grier said. "Would be much appreciated."

"Mmm." Amelia washed her hands. "And food, I think. You look like you could use it. "He'll be fine," she said, when Grier didn't follow her to the door. "Sleeping like a baby. Come on." She led him down a long hallway that emptied into the main part of the house. Baptiste was already in the kitchen, setting another place at the table. Grier took in the intimate, candlelit setting, and understood why his first knock had gone unanswered.

"I apologize for ruining your meal."

Baptiste grunted and took a casserole dish from Amelia. "It wouldn't be the first time. I saw a patient on our wedding night, if I recall." He hovered over the table, frowning at the flickering candles. "Don't apologize for bringing Aleck." He looked ready to say more, perhaps a roundabout insult directed at Grier, but Amelia shushed him.

"Let's eat. Before it goes cold again. Grier, sit here."

The remnants of the Baptiste's dinner would have made Keev's mouth water. Rack of lamb, cooked to perfection, and wild rice with shallots. To his embarrassment, Grier's stomach grumbled when Amelia sat his plate in front of him.

Baptiste pointed with a fork. "This is our anniversary dinner. Consider yourself lucky. Amelia doesn't work this kind of magic every day. She's a busy woman."

"Thank you," seemed the appropriate response to Baptiste's veiled annoyance. The man was king of his domain, and Grier had no desire to fight him for the title. He obliged Amelia and ate when prompted. She offered him wine, a Riesling that smelled crisp and fruity, but Grier declined. He'd hoped the delayed meal would result in more eating and less conversation, but Baptiste managed to shovel food into his mouth and still fire off enough questions that Grier's food was cool before his plate was half empty.

"How long have you known Aleck?" Baptiste asked around a mouthful of rice.

Grier chewed while deciding his answer. "Not long, despite what your wife believes."

"What kind of trouble is he in?"

"You'll need to discuss that with him. I'm sorry."

"Does this have to do with that conglomerate he works for?"

Grier's answers grew repetitive and awkward. Baptiste had said he knew little about Aleck, and he hadn't been lying. As soon as the other man took a sip of wine, Grier launched a defensive strike. "You're right. You don't know him at all. How does this friendship between you survive?"

Amelia went still, but Baptiste, to his credit, shrugged. He refilled his glass. "He was Amelia's friend when she needed one. He protected her. Over the years, he's become a sort of… guardian angel, if you will." He drank his wine. "Let's just say, we owe him."

*~*~*

Consciousness came long before Aleck opened his eyes. A hazy memory of Henri leaning over him and Amelia's low-pitched voice in his ear blunted the urge to panic. He remembered Grier forcing him into sleep, the bastard. Still, he was safe. His head buzzed and his body tingled with warmth, but no pain. Even his headache had disappeared. Aleck reveled in the comfortable haze. A crooked smile spread over his face.

"Someone's having good dreams."

Aleck's grin grew. "Just dreaming about you, sweetheart," he said with a slight slur. "It always makes me smile."

Amelia followed her short burst of laughter with a peck to Aleck's forehead. "Flatterer. How are you feeling?"

"Um." He risked peeling his eyes open. The room swam into focus. "Pretty good right now. Like I'm made of jello. What magic elixir did Henri give me?"

"The magic elixir of morphine," Amelia replied in his ear. She added another chaste kiss, a lingering press of lips at his temple. "Enjoy it while you can."

"Oh, I plan to."

"Because he says that when it wears off all you get is Tylenol."

"Sadist," Aleck grunted. He wiggled his fingers, testing, then curled his hands into fists. "I suppose he has a point. I can't exactly defend myself against the evil hordes right now."

"You couldn't defend yourself against a small cat right now," Grier's voice came from the doorway.

"You want to test that theory?" Aleck asked with a hoarse laugh. "Because the sight of you holding a fluffy kitten would be worth getting my eyes scratched out." He blinked to clear his swimming vision as Grier came into view. Damp hair curled over the collar of his fresh shirt. The fine lines around his eyes that Aleck now knew signaled fatigue were smoothed, and his eyes were clear. He leaned over Aleck, one hand on either side of his head. When the questing probe came, Aleck opened himself to it.

Grier sucked in a breath as Aleck drew him in, thickening their existing connection and bridging the final distance between them. Too trusting, Grier had called him, and Aleck hadn't denied it. He asked for nothing in return, no window into Grier's thoughts, just offered more of what he'd already given, this time without words.

I trust you.

"Reckless," Grier muttered, still hovering, closer now. "Do you ever look before you jump?" A water droplet fell from his hair and splashed onto Aleck's neck. Grier tracked it as it rolled down his throat and into the hollow of his collarbone.

Close enough to see Grier's eyes dilate and his breathing turn shallow, Aleck used their link to broadcast the spike in his own heartbeat. Grier drew back, wetting his lips as he did, and heat, not from the morphine this time, prickled across Aleck's skin. "I always look," he said in a whisper, too low for Amelia to hear. Maybe it was the drugs, but none of his usual apprehension plagued him. He wanted Grier closer, and instead he was moving away. "Come here—"

Amelia cleared her throat. Aleck ripped his gaze from Grier to find her studying him with suspicious disapproval. Her pinched expression meant a lecture was on the way. He cut her off just as she took a breath to speak. "Amy, is Henri home?"

She bit her lip, glancing between them. "Yes."

"I need to talk to both of you."

"I'm not sure you're—"

"It can't wait." He grasped her hand and squeezed. "Please."

Her pinched expression returned. "It'll be a few minutes. He's making calls." Aleck nodded, and she backed away, still watching both of them.

When the door closed behind her, Grier crossed his arms. "Think she'll be back to ask about my intentions?"

Some clumsy maneuvering gave Aleck the leverage he needed to sit up. "I think—whoa." The room spun. He felt himself tilting forward off the table. "Grier."

Two hands steadied him. "What are you doing?" Grier hissed.

"I want to be up and dressed when Henri and Amelia come back."

"Why?"

Aleck opened his eyes. Grier stood next to the table between his splayed legs, holding him by the shoulders. Aleck picked at the thin sheet pooled in his lap. "I don't want them looking at me like I'm an invalid. Now are you going to help or let me stumble around naked until I find some clothes."

"Is that rhetorical? Because option two has merit." Grier didn't wait for an answer, but kept one hand on Aleck's arm and reached for the pile of clothing on the chair behind him. He shook out a shirt and slacks and laid them atop the mussed sheet. "You're depleting my wardrobe."

"What do you want me to say?"

"How about, 'I promise to stop bleeding on your expensive clothing, Grier.'"

Aleck held up a finger. "Think about how dull our life would be if I did."

"I like dull. One lives longer, or so I'm told." Grier helped him shrug into the shirt, but Aleck's fingers felt thick and clumsy, and after a minute Grier swatted them away and buttoned it himself. "Oh yes, you're the picture of good health."

"It's the damn drugs," Aleck complained managing the underwear for himself, though Grier held his arm when he slipped off the table and onto his feet for the first time in twenty-four hours. "I feel drunk." He shrugged Grier's hand away. "Don't say it."

"What?"

"That I'm acting drunk."

"Fine." Grier handed him the pants. "You look drunk."

The slacks were too long, and pulling them too far over his hips was out of the question. The wound still throbbed. Aleck cinched the belt tight below the bandage. It was better than nothing. "Did you get a hold of Keev?"

Grier shook his head. "I didn't want to take a chance of having the call traced here."

"He needs to know his security's been compromised." Aleck turned up his shirt cuffs. "He could be in danger."

"He can take care of himself."

Grier's pensive frown gave Aleck pause. "Thank you, then, for not taking the risk. We'll call as soon as we're clear. The thing is—" Aleck frowned at the socks, then shoved them into his pocket and slipped his bare feet into the loafers. "—we can't stay here much longer. One nosy neighbor is all it takes. Kaye's smart. It might take her a while, but she'd track us down."

"And then we'd have more of your friends shooting at us."

Aleck eased himself back onto the table, cringing when the skin around the bullet wound pulled taut. "Funny."

"I try."

"I won't put Amy and Henri in any more danger."

"No one knows you're here," Henri said, coming in, Amelia at his heels. "We made sure." He looked Aleck up and down. "Did I say you could get dressed?"

Grier's smile bordered on fond. "You don't know him very well, do you?"

"I'm not going to take that chance," Aleck said, ignoring them both. "We'll leave tonight."

"No!" Amelia slashed her hand through the air in furious rejection. "You can't. Not in your condition."

"I'm fine." Aleck caught her hand, trapping it between his own. "Trust me."

"Where will you go?" Henri asked.

"That," Aleck glanced at Grier, "is what I wanted to talk to you about. We need someplace quiet. I need to recover, one. But I also need some seclusion in order to… help Grier with some things. The fewer people who see us, the better. In fact, if we could go without seeing anyone, that would be ideal."

Henri stroked his beard. "You mean the beach house."

Aleck nodded. "You still have it, then?"

"Yes."

"The beach house?" Amelia asked. "It's not—"

"It's perfect," Henri said. "Aleck's right. Secluded. No neighbors. Most people don't even know it's there. Plus it's in your mother's name, Amy, and the trust still maintains the property."

Aleck rubbed Amelia's hands between his palms. "It's not ideal. But if we're found there, someone will have to dig deep to find you two, and I doubt they'd even try. The house is empty. It'll be assumed we took advantage of that." He met Grier's eyes. "It's quiet, no people. That'll be key for your training. A couple of weeks and we'll be gone, I promise, Henri."

"It'stoo secluded," Amy said. "If your condition worsens, if there are complications, infection, relapse…."

"I won't be alone."

"Aleck." She pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head. "You're asking too much. You have to give me more."

"I can't. You know I can't."

She broke free with a vicious tug. Aleck lunged for her, too late, and tipped off the table, but Henri caught him before he fell. Amelia ran from the room.

"I'll talk to her." Henri patted Aleck's shoulder. "We'll get you supplied and on the road tonight."

Henri had never been an easy man to read, and Aleck wasn't going to try now. "I'm sorry," he said, at a loss. Henri nodded, not meeting his eyes. The ache in Aleck's chest expanded. Staying away all these years meant nothing if his actions put them in harm's way now. Henri turned after Amelia, and Aleck let him go.

In the ensuing silence, Grier sighed. He drummed his fingers on the counter, a thoughtful tap tap tap. "We can find another place. Not connected with your friends."

Aleck swallowed his regret. "No. This is our best shot. I need to heal. You need to learn."

"Will it take two weeks?"

"Well," Aleck slid from the table, holding his side. "It took me years to master. I taught Graviel in about six months, but I didn't see him every day, and I didn't know the best way to explain things back then."

"You do now?"

"I'll do better this time around. Can you learn it in two weeks? I don't know for sure, but I hope so. If anybody can, it's you."

Grier didn't react to the compliment. "And at the end of two weeks?"

"You go get yourself a new life." He slid around the table to the door, but Grier was faster. He caught Aleck's arm.

"And you?"

"I'm going after Graviel."

"You're insane!"

Aleck set his jaw. "I need to know."

"You already know. Didn't you hear a word Keev said?"

Aleck nodded.

Grier gave him a shake. "Graviel's a part of this. He's orchestrating it."

"I can't believe that."

Grier hissed in disgust and stalked to the door. "Sentimental idiot. You don'twant to believe it."

Aleck waited until he'd thrown the door open. "Neither do you," he said to Grier's retreating back.

*~*~*

Grier took the first turn he came to and slammed through a metal door into the Baptiste's garage. An empty paint can took the brunt of his frustration and went sailing against the wall with a vicious kick. Damn Aleck to hell. If he wanted to die, let him. The thought prompted another wave of rage, and Grier slammed his fist into the nearest wall, where it sank into the soft wallboard. He pulled free and snarled at the hole.

Amelia's soft tsk of censure startled him more than he cared to admit. He rounded to where she knelt on the opposite side of the room, sorting through boxes. "My apologies," he said, voice gruff.

Amelia pushed one box to the side and slid another between her legs. Again, Grier was struck by how small she was. "Aleck's batting a thousand today, isn't he?" she asked with a wry smile. "Did you get a shot at him?"

"I—no." It was a tempting thought though.

"Shame," Amelia said with a sigh. "Someone needs to hit him. Hard."

"That wouldn't accomplish anything."

"It'd make me feel better." They shared a smile.

Grier picked his way across the garage, sliding in front of a black Land Rover to where Amelia sat in a circle of boxes. "What are you doing?"

"Supplies. You'll have to stop for any fresh food you want, but I have everything else you need." She ran her hand over a clear plastic bag filled with blankets. "Aleck said the less public exposure, the better. This should save you several stops."

"Thank you." Grier found an empty spot and sat. The icy concrete cooled his anger. "How did you two meet?"

Amelia motioned for another box, and Grier slid it forward. "Isn't that my line?" she asked. "Oh stop with that look." One by one, she filled the bottom of the box with cans. "I'm not blind, Grier."

"It's not what you think."

"Isn't it?" Boxes of rice, instant potatoes, and pasta got stacked on top of the canned vegetables. "You don't want to know what I think. Although," she paused to check the expiration date on a box, "if you did, you could just… look, couldn't you?"

Why lie? She already knew. "Yes."

"Hmmm." She folded the flaps closed and rested her elbows on the cardboard. Chin in hand, she said, "To answer your question, we met when I was in the fifth grade and Aleck was in the fourth. He was just a little larger than I was, if you can believe that. His bitch of a grandmother never fed him much." She stood, brushing grime off her jeans. "Grab those?" She picked up a smaller box, slung it over her hip, and popped the hatch on the Land Rover. "That one's pretty heavy. Let's put it on the bottom."

Grier shook his head. "We're not taking your car."

Amelia tilted her head back to laugh. "Oh yes, you are. Don't argue with me. I've already had it out with my husband today, and I'm angry enough that if Aleck weren't hurt, I'd knee him in the balls right now. Don't you piss me off, too." She pulled herself up to her full four feet eleven inches and glared.

Grier cleared his throat. "Where did you say you wanted this?"

"Left side, on top of that one. You're not stupid. I like that."

"And you're capable of standing up for yourself."

"Don't let my height fool you."

Grier handed her another box. "It doesn't, but your husband mentioned something about Aleck protecting you."

She stilled, before shrugging. "Yes. From my father. He was a sadistic bastard, almost as bad as Aleck's grandfather. They were a pair of worthless souls, both dead now." She swiped a hand under her eye. "He—I—"

"Never mind," Grier said, infusing his voice with suggestion. Presumptuous, but he was the one who'd brought the pain to the surface. He eased into her mind and turned her thoughts to other things, repelling her memories as he withdrew, but a few caught him, inky black with pain and fear. He heard a man's voice, saw a pair of filthy hands, heard Amelia crying.

He drew back so fast, he stumbled. Amelia cocked her head. "What was I saying?"

"You were telling me about Aleck's family," Grier said, swallowing the bad taste in his mouth.

"I was?" The thought bothered her, he saw. Then she shrugged. "There's not much to say. He never knew his father, and his mother died when he was still a baby. Drug overdose. His grandparents raised him."

Most of this Grier knew, from their first conversation in his apartment. "His grandfather abused him?"

Amelia stuffed the bags of linens into the back of the Land Rover, then pulled the hatch closed. "Yes." She motioned for Grier to follow her out of the garage. "His favorite game," she said as they walked, "was to trick Aleck, be nice to him, right before he hurt him. There's only so much a little boy's heart can take, you know."

He did. Some of the mystery that was Aleck Devlin began to fall into place.

"By the time I met him, he'd learned his lesson. He'd stopped giving the old bastard chances to hurt him."

The damage would've been done by then. Fourth grade. Nine, maybe ten years old. Grier took a deep breath when he found his teeth grinding together. "What power does a child have?" he asked under his breath.

"Not a lot, as a general rule." She turned to face him before they crossed the threshold into the kitchen. "But this is Aleck we're talking about." They shared a conspiratorial grin. "He got my father good too," she whispered, then pushed the door open.

Aleck was hunched over the table with Baptiste, speaking in low tones. Both glanced up, then went back to their discussion. They had a map spread out on the table in front of them, its accordion folds turning up at the edges.

"And then one day," Amelia said, still in a whisper, her eyes on Aleck's back. "A man came. He talked to Aleck, and Aleck—" she gave a hiccupping laugh, "—he smiled. The man took him away, and nothing's been the same since. If we're lucky, we see him every six months or so. Once he didn't come for two years." Her voice broke on the last word. Grier placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, wondering for the first time just how deep Amelia Baptiste's feelings ran for her friend. "I thought he was dead," she said. "I truly thought he was dead."

Grier, unsure to whether she was referring to then or now, stayed silent.