City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(101)

I open my mouth to answer, but Isabel continues. “Diana lured Mick there and killed him.”

“They had sex,” Dalton says.

“Bullshit. Mick would never—”

“There were signs he’d had sex shortly before his death.”

“With me, Eric. In the backroom about an hour before he left.”

“While the Roc was still open?”

“Is that a crime?”

Dalton crosses his arms. “You left the bar unattended and had sex in the backroom with your boyfriend, who wasn’t feeling well.”

“He was feeling fine then.”

“Then I’d suggest you get your ass to the doc’s to confirm that for our report.”

“Confirm it how? He wore a condom.”

“Produce the condom.” Dalton nudges me. “We’ll talk to you later, Isabel.”

“It’s about Diana.” She steps between us to face me. “Information I’ve been debating telling you, because you already don’t like me very much, and this won’t help. But it’s something you need to know.”

“It can wait,” Dalton says. “Casey’s so tired she can barely stay upright.”

“No, I …” I want to say I’ll handle it, but I can’t. “I’m sorry. Eric’s right. Whatever it is, right now, I’d probably only hear half of it.”

“Then I’ll talk to you, Eric,” she says.

He exhales. “I’m just as tired, and I want to get Casey home before we both fall over.”

“Will!” Isabel calls.

I see Anders down the road. He looks as if he’d been heading our way but was stopped by a citizen. He says a few quick words to the woman and then hurries to us.

“Will, could you please walk Casey home?” Isabel says. “She’s exhausted, and I need to speak to Eric.”

Dalton hesitates and then says, “Yeah, okay, walk her home. Make sure she gets in bed.”

“Alone,” Isabel calls as we start to go.

Anders flips her the finger.

“You get some rest, too, Will,” Dalton says.

“I’m fine. You guys need—”

“We all need sleep. I’m going home after this, and I’m not coming into the station before two. If either of you sticks your head out before then, people are going to demand a statement. You’ll need to wake me up early to give it. I’ll be pissed.”

Anders smiles. “All right. See you at two, then.”

Once we’re back at my place, Anders comes in, and I get halfway across my living room and it’s like my battery cuts out. I just stop. Then I start to shake. Anders is there in a blink, his arms going around me, and I try to brush him off, to say I’m fine, but he says, “Bullshit,” and hugs me tighter, until I give up and let myself fall against him.

I don’t cry. I want to, for the first time since those months in the hospital. But tears don’t come. Instead, I just shake harder, as much as I try to stop. After a couple of minutes, Anders leans down and whispers, “It’s about Diana, right?”

I nod, and I don’t elaborate, and he just keeps hugging me, and as the shaking stops, I become keenly aware of him, the smell of him and the feel of him, that rock-solid presence and the beat of his heart, and I think of more than a hug.

I think of complete distraction, of sex with a great guy who’d give it and understand it was just the moment and expect nothing more. All I need to do is give a sign. Touch his hip. Press against him. Some small signal that he can choose to act on or not, and if he chooses no, then the moment passes without awkwardness.

I don’t make that move. I know why I don’t, and I choose not to pursue that reason, not to analyze it, because if I think about it too much, I’ll decide it’s a damned stupid excuse and, really, if that’s the reason I’m holding back, then it’s also the reason I should push forward, because that’s not happening, that shouldn’t happen, and this is the better choice. No, that’s not true. This is the safer choice. This is the one that won’t break my heart.

Anders kisses the top of my head. Then my forehead. Just light, fraternal kisses, but that’s his move, his sign. All I have to do is lift my face from his chest, tilt it up, and let him put those kisses on my lips. I don’t, and he gives my forehead one last kiss. Then I step away.

“I should get to bed,” I say. “Let you go.”

“Yes,” he says. “You should get to bed. As for letting me go?” He takes my face between his hands. “I’m always here for you, Casey. If you need me, I’m here. If you don’t? I’ll still be here.”

He kisses my forehead again, and I know he’s telling me, whether I want more or not, he’ll still be there. Which is, I think, the sweetest thing a guy has ever said to me, and I wish … But there’s no sense wishing, because it’s only going to make me feel guilty and stupid—too stupid to take the damned good thing that’s right in front of me, stupid enough to hold out for something I’m not going to get. That’s the way it is, though, and one thing I won’t be stupid enough to do? Tell myself I’m wrong and hurt Anders when it turns out I’m not.

“I’m going to crash here,” he says, and waves to the couch. “Okay?”