Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(63)

Who were doing what, exactly?

A plastic ID badge on a lanyard hung from the corner of a monitor with the magnetic strip facing out. Peter turned it so he could see the front. It was an electronic access pass for Stanford University’s computer science department, with an unshaven Boyle staring blankly at the camera.

Could be a coincidence, Boyle and June’s mom at the same institution.

Peter found the computer mouse and gave it a nudge. The big central monitor lit up. The lock screen’s wallpaper was a photo of June’s face. It was taken from an angle, looking downward, and slightly grainy, as if from long distance. She was leaning forward, talking to someone out of the frame, but clearly not the photographer. Her face was animated and bright, freckles glowing, her mouth open a bit wider on one side, as if delivering the punch line to a private joke. She was beautiful. On the monitor, the photo was much larger than life-sized.

“Peter?” June called down the stairs. He was glad she was still on the landing.

“Coming,” he called back. He walked quickly out of the Faraday cage, turned out the light, and jogged up to the back landing.

“Did you find any bodies?”

“Nope,” Peter said. “No freezers, no bodies. Just a basement. But it reminds me, I’m wearing the last of my clean clothes. Can I run a load of laundry? And do you want to throw anything in?”

She gave him a look. “You want to do laundry? My laundry?”

“Mine, too,” he said. Then shrugged. “Besides, I never got a chance to check out your underwear last night.”

She smacked him in the arm, pretending that she wasn’t blushing.

“Don’t get any ideas, bub. We’re going to track down that lawyer, remember?”

Before they left, Peter loaded the back of the van with some gear. The pad and sleeping bag he’d bought the day before, still trashed from their night of debauchery, but functional. Peter had slept in worse. He added June’s sleeping bag and pad that they’d carried up from California, along with her tent, a tiny backpacking stove, and a set of lightweight cookware. A few bottles of water and some basic food that would be easy to cook on a camp stove. The tool bag he’d bought the day before was in there, too. He’d stocked that bag pretty well.

“Are we taking a trip?” June asked as he closed the hatch.

“Just being prepared,” said Peter. “We still don’t know how secure we are here.”

As he backed out of the driveway, he saw Leo’s scraped-up BMW parked at an angle on the front lawn, windows down in the rain. Leo was fast asleep, sitting up behind the wheel. The engine still running.

Peter kept driving. He knew he’d be seeing Leo again.





30





After a quick stop for coffee at Caffe Ladro, it was a short drive to Nordstrom at Fifth and Pine. The static kept Peter company as June strode toward the men’s department. Peter took deep breaths. The high ceilings helped.

June introduced herself to a salesman in a lavender shirt and tie over gray suit pants, who pretended not to notice June’s stitched lip and Peter’s medical boot.

Peter had planned to buy something cheap off the rack, but June took charge.

“My friend needs a black suit,” she said. “Wool, of course. Clean and classic. He’ll also need a shirt, tie, belt, underwear, shoes, and socks, and I think a topcoat for the rain. But here’s the problem. We need him wearing everything when we leave.”

The salesman, whose name was Jerome, looked Peter up and down with a slightly more than professional eye. “Well. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”

Peter was amused at this version of June, his fashion consultant, given that he’d mostly seen her in half-shredded tree-climbing clothes or nothing at all. But she looked crisp and classic today.

June wasn’t the first woman who’d tried to get Peter to upgrade his wardrobe.

Jerome pursed his lips and stepped around Peter to get all the angles. “He certainly won’t be wearing a slim cut, not with those broad shoulders, and those muscular thighs.” Jerome also seemed to be enjoying himself. “You’re a forty-two long, I believe. I have two suits that would work well, and two more possibles.” He gave June a conspiratorial smile. “This way, madam.” And he strode off with June in tow, the two of them already chatting like old friends, while Peter stumped behind in the medical boot.

Jerome took Peter’s measurements with great delicacy, then presented four suits for June’s approval. “These are all quite good, both in fabric and construction. Prices are comparable.”

June selected a suit. “Let’s start with this one.” She handed it to Peter along with a white dress shirt she’d taken from its package. “I think you’ll look quite handsome.”

She gave him a gentle push toward the dressing room. The mirrors made the small space feel bigger. Peter kept breathing, in and out, changing his clothes while his cracked ribs twanged. He left the boot in the dressing room.

He hadn’t worn a suit since the last time he’d taken off his dress blues, and he hadn’t missed it. He didn’t like his movements restricted, or worrying about damaging expensive clothing. But wearing the blues had done something to him, and this suit did, too. It made him stand a little taller. It made him want a fresh haircut.