Red Fish, Dead Fish

by Amy Lane

  “How would you know that?” The suspicion in Kryzynski’s voice was evident, and Ellery glowered at Jackson.

  “We have an informant,” he said with dignity. “Someone who got in and out of the house.”

  “Is Rivers there?” Oh, hooray—he wasn’t stupid. “Look, if it’s Rivers, just let me talk to him.”

  “I have no idea why you’d want to do that,” Ellery said blandly. “We’re telling you that going in tonight would be your best bet.”

  “And I’m telling you that it will be safer for our people if we stake out and wait.”

  “He’s going to escape,” Jackson muttered. “He’s going to make the stakeout vehicle, and he’s going to run.”

  “This man has killed several people, and it’s not pretty—”

  “We still only have your word for it and—”

  “I have an eyewitness who saw him kill a man who is probably still on the premises!” Ellery snarled rashly.

  Jackson held out both his hands like “See, was that so hard?”

  Yes. Yes, it was hard.

  “Is it Rivers?” Kryzynski asked sweetly. “Because if it was Rivers, I would really like to talk to him about now.”

  Ellery hesitated, and Jackson stood up, leaned over, and snagged the phone from his hand. “Left side of the house, facing,” he said quietly. “In the entryway to the crawl space under the house—he was sort of stuffed into the hole and then killed there.”

  “Really? You saw all this?” Kryzynski snarled. “What the hell were you doing, Rivers, staring through the slats in the fence while a man got murdered?”

  “I was trying to get away from the murderer before he shot me full of heroin,” Jackson snapped. “I fucking failed. Are you happy to know that?”

  Kryzynski sucked in a breath. “Oh God.”

  “It was worse than you’re thinking, so could you maybe use some of that shitty experience and move in on the guy?”

  “No—dammit, Rivers, this was the best my lieutenant would give me. It sure would have helped to have an actual eyewitness telling us where to go!”

  “I was not exactly in any shape to be running an op. Do you understand me? Do you need me out there now to tell you how to pick your own noses, or can you just run in and get this guy?”

  “Not if he’s as dangerous as you say! Seven a.m.—first light.”

  “We’ll see you there,” Jackson snarled, and Ellery heard the dial tone as Kryzynski hung up on him.

  “That went well,” he muttered.

  “We should call Dakin.” Jackson took a couple of pacing steps and yawned. The yawn ended and he fell heavily to his seat. “We should all be there at six thirty.”

  “No,” Ellery snapped. “I’ll be there—”

  “Not on your life.” Jackson tried to shove himself up using his bad arm. He yelped and sat down again. “I’ll be better in the morning, and even if I’m dragging myself across Meadowview like a slug, you still need to take me with you.”

  “Augh!” He was right. Ellery hated that he was right, because often it happened using intuition alone.

  “I know what the inside of the house looks like,” Jackson argued. “I may not remember how many people were in there, but I’ll be able to see if anything’s changed.”

  “I didn’t want them to know you’d been there,” Ellery told him—probably unnecessarily.

  “You think I didn’t know that? It was sweet and all, but eventually they were going to need evidence—”

  “But….” Ellery closed his eyes. “Jackson, they’re going to want to know where the DNA came from.”

  Jackson glared out the back window. “Let ’em,” he said, and if Ellery hadn’t known him pretty well, he wouldn’t have seen that tic in his cheek or the way he was grinding his teeth together.

  Or the fact that his ibuprofen had worn off and he was in a lot of pain.

  “I just don’t want you to have to—”

  “You want to protect me. I get it.” Jackson met his gaze across the table. “And here, in this house, that’s okay. But out there, I gotta do my job. Ellery, there were dead bodies in there—I don’t remember how many. These guys, they gotta take that seriously, and they’re not going to do it if they’re informed by a nameless source. It’s got to be a real thing.”

  “It was a real thing,” Ellery whispered. “It was real to you.”

  “Well, let’s make it real to the world.” But Jackson let out a sigh and rested his forehead on his fist. “Tomorrow.”

  Ellery glanced at the clock. “Nine—who wants bed?”

  “Not yet,” Jackson protested through a yawn, and Ellery wanted to laugh.

  “Don’t be a macho bastard. Come to bed, we’ll turn the TV on in there, and you can fall asleep watching something stupid while I work.”

  “You’ll wake me up in the morning, right?” he asked plaintively.

  “Only one of us gets to sneak out of bed to be a fucking hero. Is that right, Jackson?”

  Jackson groaned. “That was not supposed to turn out like that.”

  “But guess what. It did. So now we’re going two steps back, and I get to give you shit about it until you are all better.”

  “Fine.” God, he was even attractive when he sulked. “Do I get to do dishes?”

  As. If. “No. Not tonight. Tonight you go call Tess Dakin and tell her she needs to be there tomorrow or she doesn’t get to whine.”

  Jackson nodded and yawned again. Ellery could see the lines and shadows of fatigue around his eyes, heard an encroaching cold in his voice.

  “What?” Jackson asked as he stood. “You’ve completely managed my life for the next twelve hours. Why do you have that ‘nipple-clamp’ expression on your face?”

  Ellery didn’t even laugh. “I don’t understand how you’ve made it. How did you survive the last eight years since you got shot the first time? It’s a mystery. It’s a terrifying, heart-stopping mystery.”

  Jackson shrugged and winked tiredly. “Not such a mystery—I didn’t really come close to death until I met you.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  Jackson held out his hand, and Ellery put the phone in it. “Try not to get this one stomped on by a drug-addled serial killer.”

  “We’re damned lucky he was drug-addled,” Jackson said soberly. “Do you know I had my wallet in my pocket? He grabbed my car keys and my phone and left the wallet.”

  “Did he grab the dime bag you lifted when you raided heroin family?” That had been bothering him.

  Jackson grimaced. “Well, I think I washed that when I threw everything not my sweatshirt and shirt in the washer. It wasn’t sealed too tightly. It’s probably seeped into the fabric of the jeans.”

  Ellery sucked in air through his teeth. “Okay. Tomorrow? When Mike is Jackson-sitting? You’re going to the duplex, throwing that shit away, and moving the rest of your clothes here. It’s like you’ve been trying to do fall and winter in two pairs of jeans and a couple of hoodies. I know you’ve got more clothes in that garage somewhere.”

  Jackson gave a half smile, like something amused him. “I do,” he said quietly. “You, uh—you’re sure.” He closed his eyes, and Ellery could see the rise and fall of his chest in a big cleansing breath. “I’m….” He swallowed. “You know… this is a big thing.”

  “Really?” Ellery’s heart was sore, and he found his escape in sarcasm. “It hadn’t occurred to me that this could possibly be a big step for you. Because you—not twelve hours ago—were planning to take your cat and go.” And ouch, that stung.

  “Because the duplex isn’t mine anymore,” Jackson said softly. “And… and if this place isn’t home, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  Ellery let his sarcasm go in a rush. Very carefully he took a sip of his wine and tried to steady the shaking of his hands. “Come here,” he ordered, and Jackson approached his chair slowly. Ellery stood and took his good hand.

  “I, Ellery Cramer, promise that any parting of the ways we come to will be arriv
ed at through mutual consent and exhaustion of all other avenues of communication. I will never just kick you out. I will never throw your cat in the carrier and tell you to go. As long as we cohabitate, part of the space here will always be yours. I order groceries and have them delivered—I refuse to let you pay for that. I will accept a small rent stipend after you make arrangements for your half of the duplex and not before. Drive-through and takeout are up for grabs and depend on who’s driving.”

  He took a deep breath and peered at Jackson, who was gnawing his lower lip in a gesture that seemed uncharacteristically young.

  “My car payment—”

  “Nope. Mine.”

  He glared. “My cat’s vet bills?”

  My cat too was almost out of Ellery’s mouth before he could censor himself, but he caught it. “Yours. Not a problem. Get two. Pay for them both. We’re good.”

  Jackson raised his eyebrows. “You must like blood,” he said. “Billy Bob will fucking kill an interloper.”

  Ellery narrowed his eyes. “So. Will. I.”

  And then he could have kicked himself, because Jackson’s past was a sore point between them, and Ellery wasn’t doing either of them any favors by rubbing on it with sandpaper.

  “I promise,” Jackson said, surprising him. “I mean, I can’t promise I won’t get hurt or I won’t get mad. I can’t even promise I won’t disappear again, because I’ve got to tell you, everything I was doing yesterday made sense to me at the time. But I promise—”

  “You’ve already said it,” Ellery told him, the shame biting deep. “More than once. I really only needed once. And I can’t promise I won’t be bitchy about it. But I can promise I’ll never doubt you.”

  Jackson smiled slightly. “Sometimes it’s fun when you’re bitchy,” he said reassuringly.

  Ellery rubbed Jackson’s pouty bottom lip with his thumb. “I am insecure because you are….” He laughed, embarrassed. “Really hot.”

  Jackson ducked his head. “So are you!”

  Ellery laughed again, every fiber of his being back in high school where he defined the word “dork” and wore that badge proudly. “I’m paying the vet bills for your fucking cat,” he said. He shook his head and stepped back, needing his own space for once. “Go. Go call the sexy woman who tried to hit on you yesterday morning and tell her she can be in on the bust if she plays nice with my guys. When you’re done with that, crawl into bed.”

  Jackson kissed him, quick and dirty. His skin was hot, and his lips were dry under Ellery’s, promising a long feverish night ahead for them both. But he kissed Ellery like Ellery was sexy and Jackson wanted him, and then he turned toward the bedroom. He paused at the hallway, though.

  “Ellery?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If we ever get married, I think you need to maybe open a book of poetry or something. That sounded an awful lot like contract law. I’m saying.”

  Oh God. “Just go!” He made an attempt at laughter, and Jackson must have bought it.

  It took him twenty minutes to clean up and set the dishwasher, which was a long time for two people.

  His hands were shaking. He walked into the divider between the kitchen and the dining room twice. He almost dropped his favorite wineglass.

  If we ever get married…. Jackson had been kidding when he’d said it. He’d been giving Ellery a little bit of shit for drawing up a verbal agreement on the fly, making what should have been a romantic moment dry and reassuring and practical.

  But he’d said it. He’d said it like it was a possibility. He’d said it like someday the two of them would wear suits and tell the world they were family.

  Who would marry me? Ellery still remembered Jackson’s outrage at the thought in August. The idea that anybody would merge his or her future to Jackson’s—all the reasons he was a liability, all the shit he couldn’t control.

  Who would marry me? Ellery would. Ellery would marry him in a heartbeat, whether that meant he got shot tomorrow and Ellery had to live the last four months all over again, or whether that meant he got killed tomorrow and Ellery would cry for the rest of his life.

  If we ever get married….

  When, Jackson. Not if. When. I’m going to marry you, goddammit. We’re going to have kittens.

  The kittens part made him laugh, pulled his heart from the dangerous, shaky place of emotional revelation. He dried his hands, grabbed his laptop and his paperwork and the awesome, nonglamorous parts of his job, and sauntered into the bedroom.

  Jackson was curled up on his side, the phone next to his head, looking troubled.

  “What?”

  “You got the number when she gave you her card, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s not answering—it didn’t even go to voice mail.”

  A cold shiver lanced up Ellery’s spine. “Did it just ring and ring and ring?”

  Jackson met his eyes. “Why?”

  “That’s what your phone did.”

  Jackson tilted back his head and let out a frustrated growl. “Fucking aces! Do you still have her card? Let me call her captain and—”

  “I’ll call Kryzynski after that.”

  “And then we’ll call Toe-Tag in the morning,” Jackson mumbled. “So much for hanging out with Mike and moving some more—”

  “The rest of—”

  “My shit.” Jackson grimaced. “The rest of. Fine. Whatever.” He pushed himself up to sitting and held out his hand for Tess’s card. Ellery dug it out of the pocket of his briefcase and handed it over before setting up his laptop again and got settled.

  He listened to Jackson leave a message on her captain’s phone and then look up the desk sergeant and call him.

  That phone call didn’t go so well, particularly when Jackson gave his own name.

  “No, I am not trying to pick up on her. She’s fucking missing. Do you even fucking care? Oh, that’s awesome that you think she’s a great piece of ass. Believe it or not, I was interested in her as a human being. Now call her house, you useless piece of shit, and see if she made it home!”

  He hit End Call, and Ellery rescued his phone before Jackson could chuck it across the room.

  “We’re down to one, cowboy,” he said dryly. “Now let me call some police who actually like us and see what I can do.”

  Kryzynski didn’t pick up—but Campbell did.

  “A detective?” he asked uncertainly, proving to Ellery at least why he didn’t have the chops to be promoted. “She’s missing? Wouldn’t someone else know about that? Does she work Meadowview?”

  “District Three,” Ellery said, looking at the card. “So the body that led us to this bust was discovered on her beat. She was a part of this investigation, and we were trying to catch her up in the loop. She’s not picking up, and we need you to be on the lookout for her.”

  “I think I know what she looks like—tall? Blonde? Knockout?”

  “Yeah, was that a stretch?”

  “Hey—I’m new, remember?”

  Ellery took a deep breath and put a damper on his sarcasm. “Yes—I’m sorry. But it’s been something of a day. We just thought about her, and she’s not picking up anywhere. Given what our PI went through to pinpoint this place you’re staking out, we’re a bit worried.”

  “Yeah—no, I get you. Here, let me call some folks. I’ll get back to you in an hour.”

  “Aces.” So, there was a promise to wake him up right when he was planning to shut his eyes. This guy wasn’t winning any more popularity contests with Ellery.

  “Excellent! Talk to you then.”

  Ellery hung up and looked at Jackson, who was lying on his side again, scowling at him with troubled eyes. With a quick feel of his forehead, Ellery sighed and got out of bed.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “More ibuprofen. And a thermometer.”

  “You know, I don’t think that’s really necessary.”

  Ellery didn’t even answer. Just came back with the necessary meds and made h
im open his mouth.

  “Stop scowling like that,” he admonished. “You look like Grumpy Cat. And you have a fever. Sit up and swallow.”

  That Jackson didn’t try to make that a dirty joke meant he really was feeling like shit. Still, after he was ready to lie down again, he regarded Ellery unhappily through eyes heavy with fatigue.

  “You can’t leave me tomorrow,” he said soberly.

  Ellery let out a sigh. “Jackson….” He put his hand on Jackson’s forehead and raised his eyes meaningfully.

  “No.” Scowl. “Irrelevant. If she’s missing, it’s because of me—”

  “Bullshit. It’s because she followed you, and just like you, I may add, didn’t call for backup. Which meant it was either something she wasn’t supposed to be doing, or she was trying to be the cowboy and go for the glamour. You going missing was you—with a little help from, you know, a sociopath. Her going missing is the same thing.”

  “We should be out there now,” Jackson rasped, and Ellery heard the rattle in his lungs too.

  “Six hours, Jackson,” Ellery pleaded, suddenly incredibly weary himself. “Give yourself six more hours. Please.”

  “Hate this.” But he was already mostly asleep.

  Ellery waited until his eyes were closed entirely before stroking his hair off his forehead. What would it be like, he wondered. What would it be like to fall in love with another lawyer or a school administrator or a college professor? What would it be like to love someone not damaged, not irreparably hurt by the world before he even walked into Ellery’s orbit?

  Would the lows be nearly as terrifying?

  Would the highs be nearly as good?

  The heat of Jackson’s skin sweated uncomfortably against his palm. It didn’t matter. Ellery wasn’t giving him back to the world at large. The world had no idea what it had and refused to take care of him right.

  Look at him now, one day out of Ellery’s care and he came back broken.

  Ellery wasn’t going to forgive him for that soon.

  It took a moment to go back to work, but he managed to accomplish some documentation of Jackson’s day and his whereabouts—enough to satisfy their bosses, hopefully, and to give to Kryzynski so he’d have some proof to back up his call on the stakeout and the op in the morning. He was just packing up when his phone rang.