Reid gave him a contemptuous look.“How?”he asked.“This is Plenty.That’s what we do.”
He turned to stalk away.Javi stopped him.
“Mr.Lassiter?”Javi said.He’d picked up one of the photos and was staring at it.He turned it around to show the image of two men giving slightly sun-dazzled smiles in the direction of the camera.“This is your husband?”
Reid rubbed his hand over his face.“Who else is it going to be?”
“Miles?”
“Miles Lassiter,” Reid said.He took a breath.“Miles Sandoval before.Why?”
Javi just shook his head and gave the photo back.“I just wanted to put a face to a name,” he said.
“It’s a nice picture,” Reid said.His mouth trembled briefly, and then he pressed it together in a sour line.“Maybe I’ll get to use it for his obituary.”
He stalked off, head down and shoulders hunched.Cloister gave Javi a curious look.
“What was that about?”he asked.
Javi gave him a faint smile.“Nothing,” he said.“I already said that.I just wanted to make Lassiter feel better.”
“I don’t think it worked,” Cloister said slowly.
“No,” Javi said.“Maybe us finding his husband will.I need to deal with Limehouse.You should follow up on Fowler.”
Cloister raised an eyebrow.“You don’t want to—”
“I’ll focus on Joel,” Javi said.“See if we can meet in the middle.”
He walked away.Cloister watched him go with a frown.He might not be great at reading people, but he knew Javi well enough to know when he was lying.
Whyhe was lying, now, of all times, was what didn’t make sense.
Chapter Fifteen
Pukesplatteredthetoiletbowl.
The sandwich had gone down recently enough that Javi could still pick out the smell of mustard and gravy.It made him retch again, bile stinging the back of his throat.
There was a discreet knuckle tap on the door.
“Are you OK?”someone asked gently.Rubber-soled shoes scuffed on the floor as they stepped closer.“Do you need—”
Javi reached back to brace his hand against the door.“I don’t need anything,” he said.His voice sounded harsher than he’d meant.So he cleared his throat, the taste of mustard and sick sour on the back of his tongue, and tried again.“Sorry.No.I’m fine.”
There was a dubious pause.
“OK,” the concerned Samaritan said, drawing the vowel sound over their tongue.“If that changes, let me know.This is a pretty good place to get help.”
Not the sort that Javi needed.He straightened up, flushed the toilet, and leaned back against the toilet door as he waited for the nurse to piss, wash, and leave.If nothing else, he could testify to the hygiene standards in the ward.The man washed his hands twice and hit the anti-bacterial gel pump three times before he left.
Once the door swung shut behind him, Javi let himself out of the stall.He washed his hands on autopilot and only risked a look at his reflection at the very end as he shook the water off his fingers.His nose looked worse than he’d expected—scabbed across the bridge and swollen enough to change the outline —but his eyes weren’t as bruised as he’d thought they’d be.He could just pass for tired.
Which he was.
Really?That’s what I’m thinking about?
Javi braced his hands on either side of the sink, porcelain cold against his palms, and let his head slump forward.The buzz of a fluorescent light about to burn out rattled around the edges of his attempt to pull himself together.
