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Harry waited for him to continue, but instead, he finished with his rifle and said nothing.
So yes, he had Four. He had a friend, someone in the world who had never let him down.
Unease settled over Harry, greasy and slick in his belly, and he shivered.
“You cold?” Asher asked. “You should get under the blanket.”
Harry looked at him, sitting on the floor. “Where will you sleep?”
“I’m good with the floor,” Asher answered. “Slept in worse, right?”
Harry nodded and he warred with wanting to offer to share the bed, and not wanting Asher to think Harry was going soft. He pulled back the bedcover and sat there, feeling awkward. “Will you get cold? You can use my coat.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Did... uh, did you eat enough?”
Asher smiled, then he grinned. Then he laughed.
Harry lay down and pulled the covers up. “Shut the fuck up.”
About two hours later, a shivering and very cold Asher climbed into the bed, getting under the covers. “C-c-cold.”
Harry could have grumbled and kicked him out, but instead, he shuffled over a little and opened his arms. Asher snuggled in, Harry rubbed his back, and his shivering evened out with his breathing.
Harry’s heart knocked against his ribs, right where Asher’s face was pressed. He was surprised he couldn’t feel it.
Had Harry shared a bed with a man in how long? Ever?
Not like this.
But holy hell, it felt good.
To hell with the complications or the compromises, the risk. If he could just have this, for even one night, he’d take it.
* * *
“The trail’s gone cold,”Gibson said into the phone.
“There has to be something,” Parrish muttered. “Are you sure they were there?”
“They were here all right.” Gibson eyed the three men who had said they’d seen them. One very big white man, very angry, they’d said. Probably because they’d intended to mug them until the white guy had stood up and they’d crapped themselves.Idiots.
Hull had shown them a photograph. All three men nodded. It was definitely Harrigan. “But no one knows where they are now.”
“The Interpol notice will slow them down,” Parrish said. “They’ll be taking back roads to God knows where trying to stay hidden.”
“The Interpol notice sent them underground,” Gibson muttered. “Now they’re hiding. Asher Garin is a ghost. The man’s a freaking enigma. He’s gotta be the brains behind this—”
“Don’t underestimate Harrigan,” Parrish warned. “He’s been on the ground over there for a decade. On his own.”
“He’s not on his own anymore.”
Parrish was quiet for a few beats. “I’ve got surveillance on it,” he said quietly. “For an operation that doesn’t exist, so it could take some time.”
“There is no surveillance in the Casbah,” Gibson said, looking up and down the narrow and dilapidated alleyway of sloping stairs and cracked tiles. “And the people who live here won’t talk to the police. It’s why Garin and Harrigan chose this place. They are two steps ahead. They have to have someone helping them. Someone with intel.”
“Harrigan’s phone is dark. No calls in, no calls out. He pinged another location but—”
