Finding You Page 8

  He tilted the curtain about an inch to the side and peered out through the crack.

  The knock came again. “Delivery!”

  It didn’t sound like Stan’s voice. And it must not have been Stan, because Ty went to the door and opened it. “Thanks, man. How much do I owe you?” He reached for the pizza box and a plastic bag that held the bottle of Sprite we’d ordered.

  The delivery guy took a nervous step back. “I don’t want any trouble, man. Just take the pizza. I’ll—” He gestured over his shoulder.

  “Don’t be stupid.” Ty stuffed the gun into his waistband at the middle of his back and dug some bills out of his pocket. He handed them over without looking at them. “Here. Did you happen to see anyone hanging around outside?”

  The guy tucked the money away without looking at it, too. His hand was shaking. “Just the people by the pool.”

  “Not a tall guy with blond hair?”

  The less tall guy with black hair shook his head. “Is this to do with that rapist who shot two cops and escaped earlier today?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just continued, “Cool. Just wait till I tell the guys!”

  He scurried off before Ty could ask him anything else. Ty closed the door and shook his head. “Idiot.”

  “At least he didn’t see anybody lurking outside.”

  I reached for the pizza box. Ty handed it to me. “If somebody’s lurking, you don’t usually see them. That’s the point.”

  “Details, details.” I put the box in the middle of the bed and opened it. “Can we risk a little bit of light, do you think? It’s going to be hard to eat without it.” Not to mention drink.

  He hesitated. “If we sit on the floor.”

  The hard tile floor.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’ll assume we’re sitting on the bed or in the chairs,” Ty said. “So he’ll aim higher. If we’re sitting on the floor, we might be below his target range.”

  “Or he might shoot us in the head. I feel safer up here.” Not to mention that my butt was more comfortable. “I’ll do without the light, thank you.”

  Ty sighed. “I’ll turn on the light in the bathroom and crack the door a tiny bit. Just enough so we can see.”

  “Thank you. Do we have cups?”

  “No,” Ty said. “We’ll have to share the bottle.”

  Wonderful. And we didn’t have plates, so we’d have to eat the pizza straight out of the box. But at least that didn’t continually involve putting my lips where Ty’s had been, and vice versa.

  He turned the bathroom light on and pulled the door shut until there was a tiny sliver of light coming through the crack, just enough to see what we were doing.

  “You know, Cassie,” he told me when he came back toward the bed, which was only about three steps away, “we’ve swapped saliva before.”

  “And you make it sound so romantic, too.” Although I admit my breath caught a little as he climbed onto the bed and headed for me. Before he got there, though, he put his back against the headboard next to me.

  He chuckled. “You enjoyed it.”

  I couldn’t very well deny that. He was a very good kisser.

  But I didn’t want to talk about that. “Why were you asking me about our trip to the hospital?”

  “Wanted to hear your impressions,” Ty said, grabbing a piece of pizza out of the box and biting into it. He swallowed and added, “You never finished telling me what you thought.”

  “I think I’d like to kill whoever hurt Juan. And I feel really bad for Martoni.” He couldn’t be any older than Ty, and now it sounded like his career might be over. He might never be the same. That’s a tough thing to happen at our age.

  “What about Sullivan?” Ty asked.

  “He seems like he’ll be all right. I guess getting shot in the leg isn’t as big a deal as being shot in the stomach.”

  “Nowhere near as bad. Unless the bullet nicks an artery. Then you can bleed out just as quickly.” He reached for another piece of pizza, having inhaled the first in a couple of bites.

  I shot him a sideways glance. “Have you ever...?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve managed to avoid that particular experience.”

  Good.

  “So far.”

  Right. I grimaced.

  “Knowing that it might happen is part of the job,” Ty said. “But the truth is, it doesn’t happen that often. You just hear about it when it does, so it seems like it happens more than it actually does.” He shrugged. “Anyway. Sullivan.”

  “He seemed a little nervous. Like he was afraid Enrique would blame him for what happened. But I thought it was nice of him to ask about Juan.”

  “Sure,” Ty said.

  I wrinkled my brows. “What does that mean?”

  “What?”

  “That ‘sure’ didn’t sound like a sure.”

  “That’s because I’m not sure.”

  “About what?”

  “I think one of them let Stan go,” Ty said. “I just don’t know which one. And I think that same person may have beat up Juan.”

  For a second, I didn’t know what to say. And I couldn’t have said it, even if I knew. Then I found my voice again. “Why? Juan didn’t have anything to do with anything.”

  “No,” Ty said, “but if he hadn’t been attacked, Enrique and I would have been at the Courthouse today. He would have been riding herd on Sullivan and Martoni.”

  Yes, but... “You’re not really saying that someone hurt Juan just to make sure Ricky—and maybe you—were otherwise occupied when they planned to release Stan, are you?”

  He shrugged. “It’s possible. I can’t imagine any other reason why someone would hurt him.”

  I could, and told him so. “There are lots of reasons why someone might hurt someone else. It was dark and he was walking alone in a part of town where there aren’t as many people as on Duval. Someone might have decided to take his wallet. A random robbery. And when Juan fought back—which I assume he did—things got out of hand. Was his wallet missing?”

  Ty nodded. “But that doesn’t prove anything. If I wanted to attack someone and make it look like a random robbery, I’d take the wallet, too.”

  Well, yes. “Someone might have attacked him because he was gay. Gay-bashing happens.”

  And he had looked especially well-groomed last night. Besides, when I’d spoken to him, it hadn’t sounded like he tried to keep his sexual preferences a secret. A lot of people in Key West probably know.

  “No question about it,” Ty agreed.

  “Or someone might have attacked him because he’s Hispanic. Hate-crimes against Hispanics are on the rise.”

  Ty nodded again. “Or someone could have done it to make sure Enrique had other things on his mind the day they planned to let Stan go.”

  Yes, but...

  I shook my head. I had no idea why I’d rather have Juan hurt because someone wanted him hurt, than because they just wanted a distraction for Enrique. Juan was just as hurt either way, so it wasn’t like it mattered. And in a way, being beaten up for being gay, or for being Hispanic, was even worse than being beaten up as a means to keep his brother distracted and away from the Courthouse.

  “So you think either Sullivan or Martoni is dirty,” I said eventually. And I didn’t frame it as a question.

  Ty hesitated. “I don’t know that I’d go that far. There might be circumstances we don’t know about. But I think one of them opened the handcuffs and gave Stan the means to get away. I just don’t know which one.”

  “Are you leaning toward one?”

  “No,” Ty said. “There’s not enough evidence one way or the other. They were both there. Both of them had keys to the handcuffs. Sullivan could have unlocked them when he checked them before putting Stan in the back of the car, and Martoni could have unlocked them when they stopped and he opened the door to the back seat. Sullivan was in the front; he couldn’t have seen what Martoni did behind him.”

  I nodded.

>   “Carmen mentioned that Sullivan tolerated Stan in school, so their relationship goes back farther, but Stan and Martoni probably worked together long enough to become friends, too.”

  Probably. “Martoni’s injury is a lot worse than Sullivan’s. Does that mean it’s more likely that Sullivan’s guilty, since Stan wouldn’t want to hurt his friend?”

  “I don’t think we can assume that,” Ty said. “I doubt Stan has many qualms about hurting people, no matter who they are. And it might have been sheer luck that Sullivan didn’t get hurt worse.”

  True.

  “Or, if Martoni helped him, he had incentive to want to silence Martoni, since Martoni might know what his plans are. So in that sense, it’s more suspicious that Martoni is the one who almost died.”

  In the sliver of light from the bathroom, I could see one half of his face quite well. The other half was in shadow.

  “You know,” I told the part of him I could see, “I wouldn’t want to live in your head. It must be a complicated, unpleasant place.”

  He smiled faintly. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I just find it a little creepy that you can think like that.”

  He made a sound that was most likely a puff of laughter, but which could have been a snort. “It’s—”

  “Your job. I know.”

  I took another slice of pizza from the box and got busy eating.

  When the box was empty, Ty moved that and the empty bottle to the floor, and folded the blanket back. In the process, he bumped me off the bed.

  “You could just tell me to leave because it’s bedtime,” I told him.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you!”

  “Who said anything about sleeping?” Ty wanted to know. “I’m not leaving you in your room alone all night, Cassie. We’re staying together. And it may as well be here.” He shrugged. “Not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

  No. But that was when we were sleeping together. Now I was looking at a long night of lying next to him but unable to touch.

  Not that I imagined he’d mind if I touched. He’s a guy. Guys are happy to have sex, even if it’s with ex-girlfriends they’re just protecting from escaped criminals and don’t expect to see again after the weekend is over.

  “I love you, Ty,” I told him, and realized just a second too late what I was saying, “but you’re such a guy.”

  He grinned. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment. You don’t mind if I get comfortable, do you?”

  He didn’t wait for me to answer, just began unbuttoning his shirt. One button at a time, closer and closer to the waistband. I’d seen him naked before, so it wasn’t like this was anything new, but there was something about this impromptu striptease that glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

  I think he must have known it, because he took his time shrugging the shirt off his shoulders and letting it slither to the floor. His hands dropped to the button of the pants. “Now’s the time to turn around.”

  “Not sure I want to turn around,” I confessed.

  “If you want a good night’s sleep tonight, you might want to reconsider.”

  Sleep’s overrated. And with Stan out there, possibly lurking in the hibiscus bushes beyond the pool area, sleep would be hard to come by anyway.

  Then again, did I really want to get involved with Ty again?

  Sure, I could tell myself it would just be one night. For old times’ sake and all that. We were stuck in a motel room together and nature was taking its course.

  But I knew the truth. If I slept with him tonight, I wouldn’t want to let him go in the morning. I’d get sucked right back into caring for him again.

  Hell, I’d never stopped.

  He smiled, obviously watching the thoughts chase each other across my face. “Turn around, Cassie. If we do this again, I want you to be sure. And you’re not.”

  I hesitated, I admit it. Part of me wanted him badly. Part of me wanted to try again, because the last three months without him had been lonely. And it wasn’t like I’d stopped worrying about his safety. I’d just worried from farther away and with less information about what he might be doing.

  But part of me also knew I wasn’t ready. So I got up and turned my back. “I’ll have to sleep in my underwear.”

  “No problem,” Ty said from behind my back. I could hear the sound of his zipper going down, a rasp of tiny teeth. “I usually do.”

  We’d ended up sleeping naked more times than not, actually, but I wasn’t about to go there.

  So I slipped out of the eyelet dress I had put on this morning—it felt like a year ago—and hung it carefully over the back of the single chair. I’d have to put it on again when I got up tomorrow. Hopefully Ty would let me go to my room then, so I could change into something else.

  By the time I turned back to the bed, he had already slipped under the covers. “C’mon,” he told me. “I won’t bite.”

  “You told me that last year, too.”

  “And I didn’t. Did I?” He lifted the blanket.

  I hesitated for another second, but there was really nothing else I could do. So I crept in next to him and put my head on the pillow.

  And there I lay, as stiffly as an effigy on a tombstone, aware of every tiny movement and sound he made. The rustle of the blankets, the slide of the sheets across his skin, the whisper of movement when his hair brushed the pillow. It was a little longer now than the last time I’d seen him, like he hadn’t taken the time to have it cut since leaving Chicago.

  “Go to sleep, Cassie,” he told me. “I can hear the gears moving from over here.”

  “Your hair’s longer.”

  “So is yours. Go to sleep.” He turned over on his stomach.

  “I’m a little scared,” I told him.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was drowsy. “I promise.”

  “What if he tries to get in here in the middle of the night?”

  There was no need to specify who ‘he’ was.

  “I’ll shoot him,” Ty murmured.

  “The gun’s handy?”

  “’s under my pillow.”

  “You’re joking.”

  He sighed. “Go to sleep, Cassie. I’ve got this.”

  Fine. I folded my arms over my chest and stared at the ceiling. If I fell asleep, I’d find myself snuggling up to Ty before I knew it, and that was the last thing either of us needed.

  I WOKE up snuggled up to Ty, with my nose buried in his throat, my hands against his chest, and my legs tangled with his. I’d woken up that way every morning for six months last year, so I knew what to expect. I knew what the object poking me in the stomach was, too.

  “Good morning,” Ty said. He sounded wide awake. No surprise there.

  “Unh,” I answered. My eyelashes felt like they had weights glued to them. It was warm in the bed, while the air conditioning was cold. I was comfortable, and he smelled good. And I had stayed awake long into the night, trying to make it through without letting this happen, but obviously I’d been unsuccessful.

  He had an arm around me—not sure whether that had gotten there during sleep, or whether he’d woken up and decided he might as well get in on the action. Either way, his hand was splayed against my lower back, a couple of fingertips actually underneath the elastic on my panties, and now he pressed me a little closer. “I’ve been here before.”

  Yes, he had. This was all very familiar.

  “I’ve missed you, Cassie.” The words were whispered against my lips.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I admitted, and that’s all I had time for before he kissed me.

  His lips fitted mine like they belonged there. His tongue swept past my lips, the taste of him achingly familiar. And I was home. Back where I belonged. Nothing else mattered, nothing but his mouth and his hands and his body, the way he touched me and the way he loved me.

  My bra was history, and my panties followed a few second
s later. So did his briefs. And we were together again. One.

  I felt the tears gather, and tried to blink them back. But he must have tasted them, or just known, because he murmured, “Shhhh. It’s OK. I’m here.”

  “That’s why I’m crying,” I managed.

  I could feel his lips curve against my cheek. “I love you, Cassie.”

  I love you, too.

  “I know,” I said. He chuckled.

  But it had never been about that. I’d never doubted that he loved me. I’d always known I loved him. It was all the rest of it that was the problem. Loving him so much that the thought of anything happening to him filled me with fear. Loving him so much that losing him—voluntarily—after six months seemed easier than losing him after six years, or sixteen, or sixty. When he’d become so much a part of me that I wouldn’t know how to go on alone.

  I was going to pay for this later. I knew it. But it didn’t matter. Not then. All that mattered was Ty. Taking the love he offered and giving my own in return. And I was just about to do that when—

  BOOM!

  We both jumped. Not easy to do lying down, and especially not easy to do in the middle of what we were doing.

  “What the hell—!” Ty said breathlessly.

  The sound resolved itself into a barrage of knocking on the door, and then Enrique Fuentes’s voice.

  “Connor! I know you’re in there! Open the damn door!”

  Talk about lousy timing.

  “Later,” Ty told me with a wince, as he removed himself from me and the bed, in that order.

  “I’ll just go in the bathroom and get dressed,” I told him.

  He nodded, already in the process of yanking on a pair of jeans. It was my turn to wince as I watched him tuck the evidence of what we’d been doing out of sight behind the zipper. That had to hurt.

  “Move,” he told me. “He’s gonna come through the door as soon as I open it, and you don’t want him getting an eyeful of you like that.”

  No, I didn’t. I dug my bra and panties out from the tangle of blankets and sheets, and snagged my dress from the back of the chair. “Stall him long enough that I can get out of sight.”

  “Not sure he wants to be stalled,” Ty said—understandably so, since Enrique was still banging on the door and threatening to shoot the lock off if we, or Ty, didn’t respond soon—but he waited until I had ducked into the bathroom and pulled the door mostly shut behind me before he started undoing the locks on the outside door.