by Amy Lane
“True story,” Jackson averred. “And that, yer honor, is how we ended up here.”
There was a round of applause from the edge of the corridor, and Ellery looked over—slowly, because his back and neck were also pretty stiff—and saw Dave, Alex, Jade, and Mike standing there taking in the show.
“That was an amazing story,” Jade said, moving gracefully to look over the PA’s shoulder as she worked on Jackson’s backside. “Thank God I got that version because I’m sure what really happened would give me a stroke.”
“You mean the part where Ellery swerved the Tank in front of an SUV full of bad guys?” Jackson asked, some more of his veneer cracking. “Because that was true-blue hero stuff right there.”
“Witness his bleeding head wound and wrist splint,” Ellery told them all.
“And that beauty of a bruise on his back,” Mike said, coming to sit on Jackson’s other side.
Jackson grunted. “That was entirely different,” he said with dignity.
Mike nodded. “So says the news footage.” He didn’t wait for a reply but looked at Ellery. “How long you got here?”
Ellery closed his eyes and shook his head. “No idea. What’s it been, Jackson? An eternity and two millennia?”
“Two eternities, one millennium,” Jackson corrected. “Ouch!”
The PA hissed. “That was not my fault. You ripped your stitches so badly you need another line of stitches. Good God. I’m not sure how much of that story was true—”
“All of it,” Jade and Mike said in tandem.
“Or how much of it is bullshit,” the PA continued, rolling her eyes. “But you two definitely need some downtime before you do whatever it is you do some more.”
Jackson grunted. “He’s a lawyer,” he said.
“So boring.” Ellery didn’t need to feign his yawn. He was exhausted.
“And what are you?” the PA asked.
“Nothing,” Jackson told her. “I’m on medical leave.”
And that was the last intelligible thing she got out of any of them until they carted Ellery away for X-rays.
AN HOUR later Ellery had a temporary cast on his arm and wrist—because the whole thing sported a total of three hairline fractures—and a splint on his leg to immobilize his knee. Mike was pushing his wheelchair while Alex and Dave led the way for them to visit Sean Kryzynski.
“There are some benefits to being a frequent flyer,” Alex burbled. “You guys get a personal escort service and a group discount at the viewing.”
Jackson grunted. “Expedited visiting hours?”
“You got about five minutes,” Dave said dryly. “And by that I mean I give you five minutes before you have to get the fuck out of this place or go hurl in a trash can, so we won’t keep you long. He just got an update from his detective pal and wanted to make sure you two weren’t dead.”
“Well, it’ll be good to see him too,” Ellery said with dignity. Hell, he didn’t have a hospital phobia, and hey! Someone else was pushing him around.
Alex slid open the door to Kryzynski’s room, and Sean and Andre Christie started clapping as Ellery was pushed in.
“Hear you’re looking to change professions,” Christie told him. “NASCAR, I understand?”
“Monster truck,” Ellery told him, feeling mellow. “That way I can just vroom right over the bad guys!”
“That’s fantastic,” Sean wheezed. “Jackson, how stoned is he?”
“Three sheets to the wind and tallyho,” Jackson replied. “How stoned are you?”
Sean grunted. “Not so stoned I can’t see how much you need to leave,” he said gently. “Christie here has been waiting for you guys to show so we can get the wrap-up. Andre, go fast.”
Christie nodded. “Okay, so by the time I got there, this was the sitch.” He took a breath and gave Jackson and Ellery a sideways look. “There were three wrecked SUVs, two with drivers who had taken bullets to a noggin by, witnesses report, ‘a badass guy in black motorcycle leathers with a black motorcycle that was so shiny it looked like it was from outer space.’”
“Which witnesses were those?” Ellery asked, exchanging an alarmed look with Jackson.
“ADA Sodhi and ADA Pasternak,” Christie told them grimly. “They claim to have no idea what the ‘badass motorcycle guy’ looks like without his helmet. So there’s that.”
“What a shame,” Jackson said, obviously trying not to bounce on his toes. “Isn’t that a shame, Ellery?”
“I’m wrecked,” Ellery said and then let a giggle escape. “Get it? Wrecked?”
Christie aimed a level look at both of them. “Hang tight, guys. Four more minutes to go.”
“Continue,” Jackson said. He attempted a bow and then pulled up with a grimace and made an elaborate hand gesture instead.
“So, no leather-clad badass, and no knife, which apparently made a rather large divot in would-be social climber one Ziggy Ivanov, who is currently in surgery but who may not survive.”
“I’m all broken up about that,” Sean Kryzynski breathed.
“Devastated, destroyed,” Jackson seconded.
“Wrecked!” Ellery giggled some more.
“No more oxy for you,” Jade said sourly, and Ellery beamed at her until she booped him on the nose.
“You’re so pretty,” he said. “Why aren’t you a lawyer?”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Dear God, no. Not in a million. I’d kill someone. Christie, he’s flying. You need to hurry.”
“Who was left?” Jackson asked.
“A nearly seven-foot bystander with no eyebrows and first-degree burns on his face and hands who happened to speak Russian and who helped the ADA contact the children’s parents and then disappeared,” Christie said sourly.
“That was nice of him,” Jackson said. “Don’t you think that was nice of him, Ellery?”
“Jai’s a peach,” Ellery said. “I mean he. He’s a peach.”
“Yes, he’s a peach,” Jackson echoed. “Go on.”
“There is no sign of the driver,” Christie continued, “although there was a considerable amount of blood in the driver’s seat, so I hope he’s gone somewhere to get medical attention.”
“God, so do I,” Jackson muttered. “Anything else? Any word on the street about Dima Siderov? The swiss cheese apartments? The state of the gangs in the area?”
“Dima Siderov remains at large,” Christie told him soberly, “although his gang is much diminished. Besides the split due to Ziggy trying to get his lieutenants to join Alexei Kovacs’s gang, there were the arrests made last night and”—Christie’s face went very grim—“the number of deaths this morning. Apparently Siderov is terrified of whoever killed all of Ziggy’s men, and Siderov’s men are too. I think if… people wanted to, say, move out of state with a little bit of government assistance, then Siderov would be fine with that. He’s got other cats to skin and fish to fry.”
“Erk!”
They all looked at Jackson in alarm as his face washed almost green.
“Detective, you need to up your metaphor game,” Dave said crossly. “Now, is that everything we need to know? Can Jackson and Ellery go home now?”
“One more thing,” Christie said, standing up and extending his hand. “Thank you.”
Jackson took his hand and shook it, and then Christie moved to Ellery, who said, “You really want to thank us?”
Christie nodded. “I do.”
“There’s a kid named Ty Townsend who got busted because Ziggy set up a scam and who would really love to have all his charges dropped.”
Christie frowned. “Wait. What scam?”
Jackson wobbled on his feet. “We could never figure it out. Fetzer and Hardison thought there were a couple of abandoned big-box stores on Lindstrom and Craft’s beat that were supposed to be patrolled. Ziggy gave them Ty as an easy bust to keep them away from the big-box stores, but we still don’t know why.”
“They also picked Ty because Ziggy was running odds on the team he
’s supposed to play for—if he doesn’t get his scholarship revoked because of bullshit charges,” Ellery added. “He’s supposed to leave for school tomorrow, Detective.”
Christie nodded. “Understood. You guys go home. I’ll call you in a couple of hours. I have the feeling there are a few more loose ends here.”
There were, but Christie was right. They were done.
Jackson leaned over Kryzynski’s bed and locked hands with him, gently bumping foreheads. “Get better. Call us when you can give us a ration of shit again.”
“I saw the video. Count on it,” Sean breathed, sounding stronger than he had the day before but by no means full strength.
Jackson gave him a weak smile, and then Dave and Alex literally turned him around and escorted them all out. Mike had pulled Ellery’s Lexus to the front and pumped up the air-conditioning, and the trip home was made in blissful silence.
Tails, Scales, and Epic Fails
THEY GOT home and went to bed.
For nine hours.
Jackson rolled over at around eight o’clock at night keenly aware that Billy Bob was licking at the salt from his hairline. He groaned, because everything hurt, and checked on Ellery.
Ellery was lying on his side, his wrist on one pillow, his knee on another. His eyes were closed, but he was muttering in his sleep, squirming.
“Ellery,” Jackson mumbled. “El. Wake up!”
Ellery glared at him through slitted eyes. “My hair hurts,” he said succinctly.
“Mine too. What’s wrong?”
Ellery whimpered. “I have to pee.”
Jackson let out a weak laugh. “Okay, then. Me too. I’ll go first and come back and get you, how’s that?”
“Deal.”
They finished their tasks with a lot of hopping and swearing and a little bit of laughing, and Jackson got him back into bed with pillows propped up behind his back and the remote control for the TV mounted on the wall.
Jackson limped to the shower and took a quick one, dressing in basketball shorts and one of his favorite disintegrating T-shirts. He looked up from pulling it over his head when he heard his phone vibrating on the chest of drawers.
“Rivers,” he said shortly, looking at Ellery.
“So, did you enjoy that nap?” Christie asked. “Because I could use a good nap. Was it a good one? Tell me, so I remember what sleep feels like.”
Jackson looked at the maze of cracks on his ruined phone. “I see no messages from you. For all I know, you spent the last ten hours facedown on your mattress.”
Christie let out a broken laugh. “I wish. I can’t even believe you two. ‘Yeah, hey, we got a tip about something going down at these two vacant stores. You may want to check that out.’”
“Uhm, for the record, our tip was from your people. I mean, Fetzer and Hardison told us that might be a place to check out, but, you know, shit went down.”
“Yeah, well, Fetzer and Hardison can get commendations. I don’t know what to give you two besides pain-in-the-ass awards.”
“Commendations? What did you find?”
“An auction house,” Christie said. “With locked rooms in the back for girls, many of them underaged. It’s taken hours. We’re still processing them. Chambers finally sent me home because—” He cleared his throat. “—I had a few choice words for her and how her beat cops apparently hadn’t checked this part of their beat for almost a week.”
Jackson blinked. “Ty Townsend was arrested five days ago—that’s a very coincidental time frame.”
“Yeah, you were right about that. Ziggy Ivanov had the usual beat cops who scoped this place out arrest Townsend to keep them away from an auction night. Apparently Lindstrom and Craft had gotten calls or tips from their CI a couple of times since—”
“To keep them away from that area,” Jackson said.
“Yeah. And we had cops canvass the neighborhood, and boy did the neighborhood have some shit to say. Apparently there were a couple of ginormous fucking parties here that they used to cover the sale of the girls. So you and your boy busted up a human trafficking ring.”
“Did we find the CI?” Jackson asked shortly.
There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. “No,” Christie admitted, reluctance tinging his voice.
“Do we know where Dima Siderov is?”
“Also no.”
“Do we know how Ziggy or the mysterious informant got their intel on which two cops to bait?”
“And no,” Christie snapped. “Goddammit. Like, goddammit! We saved lives today, Rivers! There were fourteen kids on that bus and over thirty girls in that godforsaken vacant store. You can’t save the world in two days. You have to be glad you survived a day like this one and go on to work some more.”
Jackson grunted. “I’ve heard that before,” he said, hating to admit that.
“Yeah, from whom?”
“My boyfriend.”
Christie gave a weak chuckle. “Well, he is the brains of your operation. Take care of him.”
Jackson looked over to Ellery, who was flipping through channels dispiritedly.
They’d survived another one, and Christie was right. The best they could do was live to fight another day.
“That’s my best job,” Jackson said fondly. Ellery looked up from his channel flipping and gave a warm smile. He looked peaked, Jackson decided. He needed food. “Thanks for the update,” he said into the phone. “Now seriously, you really should get some sleep.”
Christie yawned into the phone. “So sayeth my wife,” he said happily. “I’ll catch you later.”
“You too.”
Jackson rang off and threw himself across the bed, catching Ellery by surprise with a kiss on the cheek.
“How you doing?” he asked, resting his chin on Ellery’s shoulder. “Ready for another pain pill?”
“Yes,” Ellery said, because macho posturing was not part of his makeup. “But I need something to eat first.”
Jackson smiled. “I smell Chinese takeout. I wonder if Jade and Mike brought some over while we were sleeping.”
“The takeout fairies?” Ellery asked. “I could deal with that. How come we never bring takeout to their place?”
“Because they remain disgustingly healthy and unhurt,” Jackson told him. “Also, we bring Jade coffee and a pastry four mornings out of five and take Mike to basketball games. I think we’re doing okay as far as not mooching off our family.” He kissed Ellery’s cheek again, wanting to rub his face all over Ellery’s body and just revel in the fact that they were alive and the world was quiet—for the moment. Instead he pushed himself off the bed with a sigh and went to check on dinner.
Chinese takeout it was!
Jackson came back into the bedroom with two laden plates, setting one on each end table. He left again and returned with two glasses of milk and some pain meds for each of them, set those up, and hopped into bed, sitting cross-legged and facing Ellery, who was using a throw pillow for a table.
“What did Christie say?” Ellery asked, and Jackson briefed him, the two of them chewing over the case’s dangly bits as they ate.
When they were finished, Jackson took the plates away and rinsed them off, then returned to find Ellery swallowing his pain medication and looking thoughtful.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Ellery shook his head. “It’s just… you know. The last time we had a case with so many far-reaching implications, it almost killed us both. You more times than me.”
Jackson gave him a hopeful smile. “But look at us now! A little battered, but we didn’t even do any hospital time. It’s like an entire learning curve.”
Ellery answered with a look that was almost shy. “Look who’s suddenly optimistic. It’s practically glowy in here.”
“Well, anytime we get a meal together, Counselor, it does tend to leave me all aglow.”
Ellery rolled his eyes. “Come here,” he said nakedly. “Lay on me. Watch some television. Let’s pretend there’s
no criminals of Damocles dangling over our heads. Just for tonight.”
“Sure. What time is it in Massachusetts, though?”
Ellery groaned. “Do we really have to?”
“Bet you she’s seen my video too. And I really do need to tell her the your-son-is-a-badass story.’”
“God,” Ellery said. “You really have matured if you’re looking forward to talking to my mother.”
Jackson reached over his body carefully for the phone.
“It’s always important to give Lucy Satan her due,” he said earnestly. “I mean, if we don’t call her, she could, you know, show up unannounced.” It had happened before.
“Fine,” Ellery grunted. His eyes on Jackson weren’t unhappy, though. “Here,” he said, nodding to his shoulder. “Lay there, though. I’m going to take a picture.”
“Matching head wounds?” Jackson asked as they looked at the selfie screen and saw the identical patches of white gauze.
“No. I just want her to see we’re okay.”
He sent the picture right as the phone rang. It was Ellery’s mother, and telling the story of how Ellery Cramer, mild-mannered attorney and badass stunt driver, had saved the day was the last thing Jackson absolutely had to do that night.
Besides lie next to the man he loved and be grateful, oh so grateful, that they had this moment, had survived this day, and would live to fight again.
They had so much work to do.
Belly Up or Still Swimming
AFTER A week, Ellery could limp along with a cane, and the bruising on Jackson’s back had almost faded.
Ellery was so grateful to be mobile again. He’d been forced to sit, knee elevated, for five days, until the swelling went down. His wrist cast was one of the new 3D printed varieties—breathable and waterproof—and he was grateful. The hated plaster cast was a thing of the past. Not that he’d broken a bone in childhood but he’d seen a few.
Jackson had been back to the office two days after their adventure with the not-so-magic school bus, and he’d kept Ellery up-to-date with new clients, interviewing a couple with Jade and providing background so Ellery could do his job. Jackson had been the one to bring a small bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates from Ty Townsend, his mother, and—sweetly enough—Nate Klein, all of whom were so very grateful that Ty had the chance to go south to school and live his dream.
