Time Lost

by C. B. Lewis

  “Look into the employees in detail,” he said. “We need to know more about the kind of people they have on their books. There’s got to be something that we can use as a way in.”

  “On it.” Anton got up. “Want me to forward everything on to you as I find it?”

  Jacob hesitated. As much as he wanted to keep on top of things, he knew it would earn him a black mark if he took work home with him, especially tonight. “Have it waiting for me in the morning. I need to be off-line tonight.”

  Anton grinned. “Finally getting back on the horse?”

  Jacob gave him a look that wasn’t quite a glare. “My son is taking me to a gig. A late birthday present for last month. So no. No horse. No getting back on it.” He nodded toward the door. “As you were, Anton.”

  Anton snorted. “One day, boss. One day.”

  Jacob rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his coffee.

  They’d let it lie for about six months after Rory had kicked him out, but then Temple had started suggesting people and Anton nudged and winked more often.

  After a couple of months of it, he’d threatened them both with harassment charges if they didn’t quit it, and he was only half joking. When he asked why they gave a damn, they told him he was more cheerful when he was shagging someone on a regular basis. Personally, he’d never really noticed a difference.

  Now, they only mentioned it once every few months.

  It wasn’t just the fact he didn’t have time. It was the fact that Rory had said some things that were still true, and every time Jacob even thought about going for more than just a drink with someone, he could hear the echo.

  He downed the coffee, then checked his watch.

  An hour to get home, change, and meet Luke for dinner.

  He switched off the work quill, even though it made his fingers twitch to do it. It was only a few hours. His son was worth that, and it wasn’t as if they were going to get a break in a case that was already going cold in that three-hour window.

  Anton and Foley were talking as he emerged from his office.

  “That you for the night, sir?”

  He nodded. “And I’ll be working from home until Monday.” He glanced up at the board. “Try not to solve the case until I get back.”

  Foley snorted. “I think the chances of that are between slim and none.”

  Jacob clasped a hand to his heart. “Well, look at that, Anton,” he said with a proud sigh. “We’ve tarnished her with our jaded cynicism already.”

  Anton laughed. “That’s all you, sir. I’m a ball of sunshine.”

  Jacob raised his eyebrows. “And on that gargantuan lie, I’m off.”

  It was already past rush hour, and he made it back to his flat in good time. By the time Luke arrived, he was already ready and toying with the work quill. All it would take was a glance, just to make sure things were ticking over, but one check would become an hourly check, and Luke would give him that reproachful look.

  He set the quill aside when the buzzer rang.

  “All set?” Luke said, beaming at him as he slid into Luke’s shiny new autopod.

  Jacob smiled. “Being pampered by my boy? I think that’s a hardship I can cope with.”

  Luke laughed as he set the destination. “Still a sarcastic arse?”

  “If you visited more often, you wouldn’t forget.”

  “Likewise,” Luke countered. “I’ve got shifts at the hospital. What’s your excuse?”

  “Oh, you know. The usual. Murder. Kidnapping.”

  “Avoiding Louise’s cooking?”

  Jacob met his son’s eyes. For all that Luke’s partner was a sweet-natured and brilliant dermatologist, she was something of a legend in the kitchen. “Still that bad?”

  Luke nodded with a wince. “Oh yeah. She tried to make a pie the other day. It broke the knife.” He laughed and shook his head. “Thank God she’s smarter and better-looking than me.”

  Sometimes Jacob expected there would be a distance between them, but every time Luke visited from London, they fell back into their old pattern. They always had got along, and now it was so much simpler without having to mentally censor his conversations.

  They went to an elegant restaurant for a meal, and while he winced over the price of the courses and tried to go low-end, Luke ignored him and ordered the best of everything.

  “I can afford it,” he said, “and anyway, it’s my treat for you. Let me spoil you.”

  Jacob reluctantly passed back the menu. “It’s pricey.”

  “Papa.” Luke folded his arms on the table. His expression was grave. “I want you to listen very carefully to me: I am going to buy you the best meal you have ever had tonight, because I love you. If you don’t accept this noble offering, I will be convinced that I’m an inadequate son and will spend the rest of the night crying in the gents’.”

  Jacob managed to keep a straight face for almost five seconds, then started laughing. “You’re still a manipulative little shitbag,” he said proudly.

  Luke raised his glass, grinning. “I learned from the best.”

  Jacob shook his head. “I have no idea how I ended up with a son like you.”

  His son smirked at him. “Well, when a boy and a girl are young and stupid and don’t use a johnnie…. Do I need to go on?”

  “Please don’t,” Jacob said, grimacing.

  Luke had been twelve when Jacob gave him that very awkward talk, and his son always was a smart kid. In their few, rare arguments, it was a point Luke always threw back in his face: at least I didn’t accidentally make a person!

  Not that he could or would ever regret the accident of his son’s birth, but it had led to some complications, especially when he had to admit—to himself, Luke’s mother, and everyone else—that he was actually not exactly straight.

  He hesitated, hating to ruin the mood, but knowing he had to ask. “How are your grandparents?”

  Luke’s smile faded. He put down his glass, watching his fingertips pressing to the stem. “I saw Nana the other week. Gramp is on new medication for his heart.” He reluctantly raised his eyes to meet his father’s. “Papa, I know Nana would like to hear from you.”

  Jacob clenched his teeth, biting down the urge to demand why she ignored his letters. “I doubt that.”

  Luke reached over the table for his hand. “I think Gramp’s health is getting worse. Nana isn’t as strong as she used to be. I think….” He sighed. “I don’t think they can hold on to being angry with you anymore.”

  Jacob looked at Luke’s hand covering his. “This isn’t my doing,” he said quietly. “If anyone should be angry in this situation….” He shook his head. “I have tried so many times. I can’t keep trying.”

  “Papa….”

  It was something Luke could never understand. It was something Jacob couldn’t even understand himself. He couldn’t ever imagine any circumstance that would make him turn his own child away, no matter what they did.

  “They’re the ones that told me to go,” Jacob said finally. “I’ve tried. They ignored me. If they want to see me, if they want to speak to me, they’ve had every damned letter, every Christmas card, every new address and number.”

  Luke sat back, frowning. “I think I can see where I get my stubbornness.”

  Jacob smiled briefly. “A long-standing family tradition.” He picked up his wine glass. “But you didn’t come all this way for us to get miserable and pissed.”

  “Pissed, yes,” Luke said. “Miserable, not so much.”

  Jacob took a mouthful of the wine. “No more mentions of the family, then?”

  “How about your love life?” Luke raised his eyebrows.

  “No. I thought we wanted to steer away from miserable.”

  That earned him a smile. “Okay. Work or football it is.”

  “Or the food,” Jacob said, nodding toward the approaching waiter.

  Luke made a face. “Eh. Food’s food. I’d rather eat it than talk about it. Especially if it’s
as good as they say.”

  It was as good as they said, and whoever chose the wine had picked the perfect one for each course. By the time it came to dessert, Jacob was idly wondering about skipping the gig and going home to lie on the couch and loosen his belt a few notches. There had been enough to drink that he was feeling more relaxed than usual.

  “Can’t help feeling you’re trying to butter me up,” he informed his son as they settled back in the autopod for the brief ride to the venue. “Is there a nasty surprise waiting at the end of this evening?”

  Luke’s eyes danced. “Don’t worry. No marriage or babies yet.” He patted his father on the knee. “Your faith is astounding.”

  “I know you, kid.”

  Luke just laughed.

  The parking bay for the venue was already thronged with pods, and crowds were milling in the entrance of the building. Jacob let Luke take charge, steering him through the doors. Attendants scanned their wrist passes, and Luke led the way to their seats.

  “A box?”

  “What?”

  “You booked us a box?”

  “Don’t forget the champagne,” Luke said cheerfully. “Anyone would think I’d pissed on your shoe, the face you’re making.”

  “Luke, you don’t need to—”

  “If you’re going say spend my money on my father, you can stop now.” He waved Jacob over to the seat. “You get comfortable. I’ll go down and get us some proper drinks, and if I find you’ve snuck off to try and get into the stalls, I’m calling Mum.”

  Jacob winced. Although he and Nicola had split up before Luke was even born, she still was more than willing to come down on him like the wrath of God at any whisper that he’d upset their son. “Fine,” he said, sitting down in one of the plush seats. “I’m sitting.”

  He took off his jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair, and leaned on the edge of the box, looking out over the crowd. It was a mixed bunch. A lot of people were his age and older, with gray heads scattered all around the concert hall. That wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t often that your favorite performer from your teens decided to do a one-off concert tour when you were well into your forties.

  There were a few younger people as well. Probably people who had been nudged in that musical direction by their parents.

  Jacob leaned forward, frowning.

  A shaggy red head was moving through the crowd on the stalls level.

  Sod’s bloody law in action, Jacob thought. Trying to keep work out of the way for a night, and one of the TRI had to show up right in front of him.

  He watched as Kit Rafferty settled in a seat, talking animatedly to the older woman beside him. Out of the office, and without the stares of his colleagues focused on him, Rafferty was at ease. He was wearing the grin he’d worn in the elevator, genuine and warm.

  Jacob knew he should lean back, keep to the shadows of his nice private box. Work was work. It wasn’t meant to interfere, not when Luke would be back at any minute, but here was a member of the TRI who had talked to him willingly when there was no one around.

  All he had to do was go down and casually chat to the man, and maybe, if Rafferty had a drink or two, he might let slip something. It didn’t even have to be anything big, just a little hint of what the TRI was really mixed up in.

  All Jacob had to do was cut into the limited time he had with his son to chase his work.

  He clenched his fist on the velvet-lined ledge of the box.

  He could practically hear Rory saying I told you so.

  Down below, Rafferty happened to glance up. He frowned, as if he couldn’t recognize Jacob for a moment, then waved and flashed a glimpse of that bright grin.

  Jacob swore under his breath but raised his own hand. It was only polite.

  “Friend of yours?”

  Shit.

  He looked up at Luke, who had returned with two pints. “Just someone I met the other week.”

  Luke peered down, and Jacob saw the look of resignation—and disappointment?—on Rafferty’s face. Well, that didn’t complicate matters at all, did it?

  “We should go down and say hi, after,” Luke decided.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Luke settled on the other seat. “Why?”

  It would be so simple just to say that it was work, but then he might not get another chance to just talk, informally, to any member of the TRI. If Anton turned anything up and they had to go in all guns blazing, then lawyers would be involved and every conversation would be monitored. But here, all he had to do was talk to Rafferty, casual, informal, unmonitored.

  Maybe he wouldn’t get anything admissible in court, but he might get a starting point.

  No. He was out with his son.

  Work was off the table.

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  Luke looked at him in amusement. “From the smile on that man’s face, I think he’d be happy to let you intrude.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

  To his eternal mortification, Jacob could feel himself blush. He snatched one of the pints from Luke. “Don’t….” He trailed off, unable to articulate the thought of his son actively throwing him at sex. “Just don’t.”

  Luke grinned at him. “Call this revenge for all the times when I was in my teens.”

  Jacob glowered at him. “Little shitbag.”

  “Love you too, Papa.”

  Chapter 8

  KIT WAS trying his best to concentrate on the music.

  It wasn’t exactly easy when the policeman he’d fibbed to four days earlier was sitting in one of the theater’s plush boxes. It was made even more difficult by the fact he kept glancing up and catching DI Ofori watching him.

  He didn’t know if it was because of the lying he’d done, or because he kept looking up at the box.

  “Something wrong?”

  Kit looked down at Jenny, his neighbor and companion for the evening. “No! Why do you say that?”

  She leaned closer to call over the music. “You look like you’re ready to run off.”

  He forced a smile and dug into his pockets for the packet of sweets he’d brought with him. “I’m fine.” He held out the bag to her. “Éclair?”

  For the rest of the show, he kept his eyes on the stage. It got easier when the support bands and musicians finally left and the woman he’d come to see sat down at the piano. She was just as good live as everyone had told him, and it was so different from watching a filmed performance.

  By the end of the show, his hands were numb from clapping and his throat raw from cheering. He had almost entirely forgotten about the very good-looking policeman and his younger, equally good-looking companion up in the box. Almost.

  As the crowd started to disperse, he risked a glance up.

  Yup. Policeman still trying to pretend he wasn’t watching Kit.

  Some things were better avoided.

  He gently plucked at Jenny’s sleeve. “How about we wait until the crowds clear a bit? We’re not in any hurry, are we?”

  She nodded gratefully, sitting back down. “I forgot how busy concerts like this get,” she admitted.

  He nudged her with a grin. “What was your last one? Woodstock?”

  She swatted him across the back of the head. “Cheeky! I’m not that old.”

  He laughed, raising his hands to protect himself. “Mercy! Mercy! I meant Live Aid!”

  That earned him a firm kick in the shin.

  Another glance told him Ofori had left the box, which meant he would be in the first wave heading out the doors. All they had to do was sit another five minutes and then he could be on his merry way, and there wouldn’t be any question of him getting in any trouble.

  By the time the crowds had cleared, Jenny was already doing up her coat.

  “Fancy a drink before we head home?” Kit offered.

  She eyed him. “If this is where you offer me warm milk, I’ll thump you.”

  He grinned as they headed down towar
d the lobby. “Well, I was going to say there’s a pub down the road, but if that’s what you want, I—”

  Bugger.

  DI Ofori was standing in the lobby, alone. He didn’t look happy to be there and glanced at his watch. Kit stopped dead halfway down the stairs. In a sea of moving bodies, that was enough to catch the policeman’s eye.

  Well, no chance of avoiding each other, then.

  He descended the stairs with Jenny. “Give me a minute, would you?” he said.

  She smiled. “I wanted to stop at the souvenir stall anyway.”

  She hurried off and Kit turned back to face DI Ofori.

  “Good show, wasn’t it?”

  Ofori wedged his hands into his pockets. His expression was neutral, giving nothing away. “Worth the price of entry, definitely,” he said. He shifted on his feet. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Kit raised his eyebrows. “I can’t like music older than I am?”

  “And television. And films.”

  Kit rolled his eyes. “I have taste,” he said, and then his mouth disconnected itself from his brain and added, “I like things with a little age on them.” And oh God, he looked Ofori up and down like he was a prime steak. And there was the blush, rising like the sun. “Um.”

  Ofori’s stern expression gave way to that flicker of a smile. “You don’t go for subtle, do you?”

  Kit covered his eyes with one hand. “I am so sorry,” he mumbled. “Especially since you’re here with someone. Jesus, Kit, could you be more inappropriate?”

  “My son.”

  Kit opened a crack between two fingers. “’Scuse me?”

  Ofori was smiling now, and his eyes were crinkling. “I’m here with my son. He just ran to the gents’.”

  Kit lowered his hand. That was… unexpected, and unfortunate. Bugger. He’d almost thought Ofori was flirting back, but if he was that age and had a full-grown kid, maybe he’d just misread. “Um. Sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I didn’t realize you weren’t… I mean, that you’re….” He trailed off uselessly, wondering if playing dead was a good option to get away.