Page 103 of Tied Over

“Why didn’t you just shoot him in the face when he was outside on the porch?” Bodhi asked, leaning sideways to read my report as we sat together in bed.

“Well, for starters, we don’t shoot people in cold blood,” I reminded him.

He grunted.

God, he was cute.

“Not cute,” he grumbled.

“Did I say that out loud?”

After the cleaning crew left around one in the morning, Bodhi cooked for me, which he’d never done in the past. I got scrambled eggs with cheese—the cheese sprinkled on top, not inside. That whole flippy thing was not in his repertoire. But there was bacon, which Chickie wanted in on even though he’d already eaten, and toast that he made in the oven since he sliced up sourdough for me. There was apple juice because he was a fan of that, not orange, claiming that apple was easier on the stomach.

“Why’re you smiling?” he asked as we ate at my kitchen island.

“Because you cooked for me. You never cook for me.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” he said with a scowl. “You’re the cook, not me.”

I was quiet a moment.

“What?”

“Would you rather we move into your place—since mine had Brodie in it and crime-scene people?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to move, hoping I wouldn’t have to.

“No,” he replied, smiling at me. “There weren’t even any bullets flying around in here—well, except for the one in the ceiling and the beanbag round.”

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“And the tech team got the bullet out of the ceiling, and the cleaners did a nice job going over everything. I mean, other than annoying your neighbors with a vacuum running after midnight, I feel like this was a non-incident.”

I nodded, feeling hopeful.

“And I’m thinking with just a bit of spackle and paint, the ceiling will be perfect again, with no hint that Brodie was ever here.”

“That’s what I want,” I told him. “But if you’re going to think about Brodie every time you come into the house, I don’t want that.”

“No, I won’t,” he promised, leaning close to kiss me. “And besides, compared to this, Miro and Ian’s place was in much worse condition, and every time I go over there I don’t instantly jump to thinking: there was a serial killer in here.”

I shook my head at him.

“What? They had Craig Hartley in there. Who else can say that?”

After the food, between a full stomach and his adrenaline draining like a plug being pulled, Bodhi stumbled to the bedroom and passed out. I covered him with a lightweight throw and then took Chickie out for a late-night, now very early in the morning, walk. The full moon was out, the streets were empty, just me and him, and I couldn’t remember ever feeling so content.

At home, I set the alarm, turned off all the lights, and after taking off the sling, got into bed beside Bodhi. I wished I could put my arm around him, but I settled for spooning him and nuzzling my face into his hair. Chickie stretching out on the end of the bed was nice too. I realized we were probably going to need a dog instead of a cat. I would tell Bodhi in the morning. Or in the later morning.

ELEVEN

Around ten the following morning, Miro and Ian showed up to collect their dog. I was amazed that Ian was released from the hospital, but as he told me, a few stitches were nothing to whine about. Miro still looked wrung out.

“Thank you for all you did, Jed,” Miro told me. We were having coffee at my kitchen table while Bodhi and Ian sat on the couch and talked.

“It’s the job, you know that.”

“Yeah, but if Brodie had gotten away, and I would still be thinking that he could show up at any time and hurt Ian, I’m not sure I could have taken that fear day in, day out.”

My face made him chuckle.