Bait & Hook Read online

  "Ford," he muttered. "Sticks out like a sore thumb."

  Finally, a name. "Yeah, Ford. He looked pretty freaked back there."

  "Yeah." Darren stared at him some more with his glassy eyes. "He scares easy, that's why I like him so much."

  "What about me?"

  Darren's eyebrows raised slightly. "What about you?" There was a note of humor in his tone, but it was weighted in warning.

  Casey's pulse quickened but this was something he had to know for himself. "Do I scare easy? Is that why you pushed me so damn much?"

  A response was some time in coming, but Casey didn't budge. Darren scratched his jaw and clasped his big hands together over the table. His stubble was still dark but the gray was getting thicker. Not quite uniform as his hair, not yet.

  "I'll contact you in a few days," Darren finally said, but Casey didn't move. Only when Darren rose tiredly from his seat did he stand, and even then it was because he didn't trust the guy not to knock him out of his chair.

  "Well?" he demanded, easy with the table still between them. Darren came around, Casey held his ground, but the cop walked right on by. He unlocked the door. Casey didn't move.

  The cop's voice was worn. "Take the hint, Brown."

  Casey picked at an invisible thread on his sleeve.

  "Jesus Christ." Darren's irritation was clear, and Casey began to think he wasn't ever going to get an answer. Reluctant, he went to the door. On his way out Darren caught his arm, right at the elbow where he'd pressed earlier that day, and Casey went stiff anticipating pain. He stared at the cop, but Darren wouldn't look at him. Instead he scrutinized some point outside and across the street. His jaw was tense, his mouth pressed to a thin line.

  "You want what you can't have," he said tightly. "Now beat it before I change my mind."

  Somehow Casey had thought when it was all over he'd go straight back to Roy's. Gomez kept him around though, chattering excitedly into her cell while her pal Bingley stared at him with hard, suspicious eyes.

  "That's it, right?" Casey said. "You said I have immunity or whatever. You said after this I could go."

  "Right," she said. "After this, sure you can."

  They made him leave his car and took him down to the station. He didn't like being there, but at least they didn't put him in a cell. Hours passed. He interviewed with Bingley who made no effort to hide his dislike, then someone named James and then a big guy called Chen who kept mopping his face with a handkerchief and losing track of things.

  "No," Casey said, unable to keep his irritation at bay any longer. "Darren showed with some other cop-Ford, I guess. He brought the speed."

  "Darren."

  "No, Ford."

  "I see, I see. And Parker was where?"

  "I don't know. How would I know that? We met up later and he took a sample of the stuff."

  Chen looked at him sharply, and there was something like hope in his eyes. Casey began to see just what Roy had been working with.

  "No, not to use. Come on, he's not like that. He brought it here to be, I don't know, tested or whatever. Ask Gomez if you don't believe me." He wished she were here, but expected she was enjoying her own private little inquisition somewhere else.

  Things went on like that. When it wound down and Chen had the story straight Casey asked him outright.

  "Is Roy going to be okay? Detective Parker, I mean. He didn't really say what happened."

  "If he wanted you to know I think he might have said something, don't you?"

  "Maybe he didn't get the chance."

  "Don't bother, Mr. Brown. Detective Gomez explained the deal she made. Your condition was six hours, no questions, and then you'd help her with Darren. You went to see him, didn't you?"

  Casey crossed his arms. He glanced up at the clock. It was midday already, and he was starving. "So do you know or not?"

  "Know what?"

  "What's going to happen. If Roy-if Parker-oh hell. Is he screwed or what? Will he see jail time? He was just trying to help."

  Chen didn't really give him an answer. He just stared at Casey for a minute and finally gathered his papers together.

  "Don't leave the area," he said. "You can expect a call within the next few days. Good day, Mr. Brown."

  Casey told himself he'd go to Roy, just like he'd always planned to. But by the time he got back to his car and climbed inside and started the engine, he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less. What would Roy say to him? What would he think? Casey drove aimlessly for hours, startled when a gauge lit for want of gas. He pulled into the next station he saw and checked his messages while filling his tank.

  There was one from Gomez, short and choppy from a shitty connection. Something about 'thanks'. Nothing from Roy though there were missed calls from his number. A few of them. Casey's gut squirmed. He thought again about driving back but checked into a motel instead and when he thought he was going to be sick from the nerves, called.

  He went to a sports bar up near the stadium where nobody knew who he was. It was early yet, the tail end of happy hour and red-eyed professionals mixed with a blue collar crowd. Football, Casey thought, the great equalizer. Or was that booze, he wondered, staring into his pint glass. He caught himself checking the door for the hundredth time and focused stubbornly on one of the flat screens instead. He scanned the show of player stats like they meant something to him, and almost didn't notice when someone slid in beside him.

  "Evening."

  Startled, Casey gave a jump. He knew he should say something, but wasn't sure what. "Yeah," he said. "Hi." Roy spared him an appraising look before putting an order in. "What he's having," he said, and the bartender brought over another pale lager.

  It was an odd moment. Casey had a million things to get off his chest but they all just lodged there, and when he looked at Roy his ears burned. "You look good," he said at last. "Better, I mean."

  Roy just nodded and said, "You too," before taking a swallow of beer.

  More than a week had passed since they'd spoken before today. When Casey called from the motel, nerves unsettling his stomach, Roy hadn't been thrilled. It had gone about as well as expected. Roy knew everything. Bingley had spoken with him for one reason or another, spilling the beans.

  They'd shared words, and Casey hadn't been able to deal with it at the time. He'd cut Roy off, shut him down, and said he'd be in touch. Then he turned off his phone and slept for twelve hours.

  He'd started work in Colma. It was all right and he'd fallen into the swing of things in just a couple days. Tim seemed happy enough as long as Casey showed up on time and left things clean at the end of the day, and he'd even given Casey a deal on the rent, saying to save up now and pay the first month later. It was all working out fine, except this one thing. Except Roy.

  "So listen," he said at last, breathing deep and frowning into his glass. "I wanted to say sorry-"

  "Oh, hell." Roy dropped his head into his hands and Casey stared in surprise. He watched as Roy rubbed his face and took another swallow of beer and shook his head. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said. "You did just fine. Better than fine. You did what I couldn't." He gave Casey a light, wry little smile, but his eyes were dark with bother. "Cheers," he said, and tipped his glass into his Casey's on the bar. He drank again.

  "Roy," said Casey, and wondered if he was drunk already. Roy did look a little wired, but no, Casey decided. He was not drunk.

  "How's Tim?" Roy asked in a dogged way.

  Casey narrowed his eyes but answered the question. "He's good. You talk to him recently?"

  "Nope."

  Chaos gripped the bar for a moment when a team scored. Casey and Roy were buffeted on all sides with noise. Then it died. Casey decided to just ask.

  "Look, are you all right? Gomez said you're on leave still, but…"

  "But what?" Roy's dark eyes searched his. There was some kind of challenge in them, and Casey didn't know why.

  "But… she didn't really say anything more.
Like, are you going back ever?" Quieter, he asked, "Can you?"

  Roy dipped his finger in a small puddle and traced shapes on the bar. "Probably." He seemed to remember something. "Maybe."

  Casey just stared and finally it occurred to him. "Do you want to go back?"

  Roy smiled again, little and wry, but this time his eyes were clear. "Not sure. Honestly, sometimes-" He paused. "Sometimes I don't think I do."

  "Roy."

  "I know. But staying there after everything that's happened-I don't know. Everyone knows about you. They know what happened in the club. They know I went off on my own looking for trouble and that's not something anyone wants in a partner. I almost thought if they let me back in, I'd put in for another transfer."

  That was alarming. "A transfer? To where?"

  Roy's shoulders went up, then down.

  "Jesus," said Casey, flabbergasted. "Maybe you should quit."

  He hadn't hid his annoyance very well. Roy looked over.

  "You don't even give a shit what happens, do you? Jesus Christ, Roy, that's a great way to get killed in your line of work."

  Lifting his glass, Roy muttered, "Sweet of you to care," and Casey stared at him. Roy's profile was hard as he stared at the nearest monitor like he gave a flying fuck about the game. It was hard but then the tension eased from his stern brow, and the corners of his mouth softened. He dropped his gaze to the bartop. "Hell, Casey," he said, and he had to be the sorriest man in the room.

  "What do you want from me?" Casey asked. "If you stay, what do you want?"

  Roy shifted, uncomfortable. "Nothing. I don't know. I don't think I have much right asking you for anything at all, really-"

  "Fuck that. Roy, I'm asking you: what do you want?"

  The moment stretched. Someone scored again or so Casey supposed. There was a lot of noise and he couldn't be bothered to look at the screen. Roy looked nervous to him. Real nervous, and when he looked at Casey his dark eyes were open wide in a way, like they were saying things his mouth couldn't.

  "That night," he finally said. "When you came. After everything that happened. Before you went to Darren. And we… you know."

  Casey gave him a look like, yeah, no duh he knew.

  "Right. So was that-you know. What was that?"

  "Huh?"

  For a second, Roy just looked irritated, and they were back where they'd always been. There was another surge of sound around them and Casey gave a loud, pointed curse. He slammed a few bills down and grabbed his things. Roy fumbled for his wallet.

  "Casey, wait. Hang on-"

  "No, forget it." Casey nodded at the bills on the counter. "That's for yours. Now, come on."

  Casey led the way. He didn't say anything until they'd covered a few blocks and turned down an empty road lined with boxy, decrepit looking buildings. They looked like the kinds of places that might have employed five-year-olds once. Casey turned his back to an old wooden fence at the street corner and crossed his arms.

  Roy stared down the wide, empty street and finally looked at Casey. "Is this better?" he asked.

  "I don't know, you tell me."

  Hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, Roy studied the sidewalk for a moment. "I didn't get it," he said. "When you left that morning. Things happened so fast and I thought you'd stick around. I don't know why. Just figured, I guess. You took off and I got the call about what happened and-hell, Casey, I don't know. I'd thought that, you know, you wanted to be there." He stared hard at Casey, like he was weighing his next words. "Feels good when you're around."

  Now Casey stared at the pavement. "I did want to be there."

  "Then why didn't you say something? I know, I know: I'm one to talk. But I just thought-damn it-"

  "I didn't have time. And anyway, what would you have done if I had? Handcuffed me to radiator, probably. And it wasn't like I went off by myself. Gomez was there the whole time, and so was that other guy, Sourpuss-"

  "Bingley?"

  "Whatever. And anyway you're the one who said to trust her."

  Remembering his own words, Roy grimaced.

  "Well, you did, Roy, and it was good advice. Everything worked out. Mostly, I mean."

  Roy couldn't deny that. "Yeah." He squinted up the road for a while, just thinking, and Casey watched him. After a minute he reached out and hooked his index finger around Roy's thumb.

  "I thought I would come back but after everything-I was up all night, I hadn't eaten, I'd… dealt with Darren." That had been its own mindfuck. Especially those last words, Darren's revelation. He went on. "Like five thousand cops wanted to ask me questions, and when I finally got out of there I wasn't thinking straight. I just, I don't know, I guess I needed to be alone. And then I did call you and things didn't exactly go well."

  "I'm sorry, Casey."

  "It doesn't matter. I get it, now." They regarded each other and finally Roy seemed to notice Casey's finger. He looked down at their joined hands and moved his, touching Casey's arm and then his shoulder, then his cheek, but so briefly. Casey leaned forward then and Roy's arms felt so good around him. Casey held him back, hooking his chin up on one shoulder and breathing deeply.

  Truth was Casey couldn't say just what it was he wanted either. There was something, but it was then a formless thing and he didn't know what to call it. Still, Roy's words seemed apt.

  "Feels good when you're around, too," he admitted, and Roy held him more tightly.

  "You staying with Tim?"

  "Yeah." Casey spoke quiet, his mouth next to Roy's ear. He rubbed their cheeks together, light stubble scratching.

  "Maybe we could… do something." Roy spoke woodenly and Casey turned his head to see that he was all right. When he did, Roy kissed him, but quickly. "Together," he added, before Casey pulled him close once more.

  "Yeah," Casey answered, feeling Roy's broad, warm back under his hands and Roy's heartbeat against his chest; feeling the familiar, known heat of him. Whatever that something was, it sounded good. Better than good. "We could do something," he said. "We definitely could."

  About the Author

  Eleanor Dax lives on the West Coast. She takes her coffee with cream, no sugar. Find her blog and say hello at https://eleanordax.wordpress.com.