Double Indemnity (26 page)

Sam looked up at him. “What were you gonna say before we were interrupted?”

“Let's get you home first, okay? You need to get cleaned up. We'll talk later.”

“But you've got to tell me—”

“Yes. I promise. And Sam, I'm sorry I couldn't get there sooner. With this goddamn snow, it's a miracle we got there in time. I don't know what I would have done if we hadn't.”

Another knock—this time an orderly with a wheelchair—stopped the conversation. He guided the offending vehicle to the side of the bed and parked it, then gestured like Vanna White.

“Your ride.”

“I can walk myself.” Sam scowled.

“That's probably true, but this is hospital policy. Giddyup.” The orderly patted the seat—he'd heard it all before.

Sam let himself be wheeled to the parking lot where Nathan's car waited. He did feel wobbly enough on the icy pavement not to protest when Nathan helped him into the passenger's seat. He could buckle his own seatbelt, though, thank you very much.

The entire city still seemed to be asleep, or waiting for the thaw. Even with Nathan's powerful engine and winter tires, his car skidded out of the hospital lot and onto the snow-covered road. Sam could hardly remember the last time they'd gotten so much snow. Plows were up and running, clearing the main streets, and Sam thought about all the business he and Yuri would miss out on if he couldn't work.

Nathan's car smelled like cold leather and cinnamon. The high-tech dashboard panel had more gadgets than the Batmobile.

Sam's stomach growled.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat. I don't have any food at my place, though.”

“Let's get some breakfast to take home.”

 

 

B
REAKFAST
TURNED
out to be the only cleared-out drive-through, which was fine by Sam. He was starving. He'd wolfed down one breakfast burrito and was starting on his second by the time they made it back to his apartment.

Four flights of stairs had never seemed so daunting.

“We can rest if you need to,” Nathan said.

“I'm… I'm fine.” Sam didn't want to let on how much his head hurt. It would only add to Nathan's guilt about not getting to him soon enough.

Even so, Nathan kept one hand on Sam's waist as they ascended the stairs, as though he were afraid Sam would decide to faint and take a header back down. Sam liked it enough not to complain.

“One of these days, we'll climb the stairs and not have to lean on each other for help,” Sam said, before blushing at his presumption. Only yesterday he'd wondered if Nathan's attraction had been an act to escape a murder charge. But Nathan only laughed.

Sam's apartment was slightly less of a shithole than usual. He'd actually cleaned during the past week. Depression did strange things to a guy. Nathan switched on the lights, turned on the heat, and then removed his FBI jacket and bulletproof vest.

“Here. You go change and lie down, and I'll bring you something to drink.”

“Great. I'll take a double whiskey.”

“Water, Sam, or juice.” Nathan didn't sound amused.

“I know. I know. I'm joking.”

Changing did sound like a good idea, though. Sam kicked off his shoes and retreated to his room, which was fucking freezing. He shivered as he discarded his dirty jeans and the scrub shirt. They'd washed his head and the wounds on his arms, but the rest of him felt grimy from being in the same room with a dead Rich Petersen. He brushed his teeth and then used a warm, wet towel to sponge himself off, not wanting to get his bandages wet in the shower. After he felt reasonably clean, he dressed in sweats and climbed into bed under his thick winter quilt—another gift from Grandma, courtesy of the Florida move. Kitchen sounds drifted into the bedroom from beyond.

A few minutes later, Sam accepted a steaming cup of sugary tea from Nathan, who watched expectantly as he sipped. “Careful. It's hot.”

“I didn't even know I had tea,” Sam said.

“You do,” Nathan said. “But the packaging was a little old. I hope it's still okay.”

“It's great.” Sam didn't give a crap about the tea or anything else. Not when Nathan was finally here instead of in jail—or worse. Here, and doing the most adorable boyfriend things ever. He sipped again for emphasis and then set the mug down on the side table, putting that ridiculous thought out of his mind. He was already in danger of believing this meant more than it did.

Nathan stood with his hands in his pockets, looking like he didn't know whether to stay or go. His uncharacteristic awkwardness made Sam's stomach drop.

“I hate to leave you alone like this, but I've asked Yuri and Rachel to come over. There's a lot of paperwork that can't wait.”

“Oh.” Sam's disappointment must have been visible. Nathan's features softened.

“I was planning on coming back later, if you want me to.”

“Yeah.” Sam almost croaked out the word. He wanted Nathan to touch him, but he simply nodded and said good-bye before disappearing out the door.

Sam spent the day drifting in and out of sleep. Yuri and Rachel did come by as promised. They piled onto his bed with him and watched a couple of Sam's favorite eighties comedies, even though neither of them particularly cared for the genre.

“You're missing out on work,” Sam told Yuri.

“Some things are more important than work.”

“Yeah, like Tom Cruise's booty.” Rachel raised an eyebrow as the man in question shimmied onto the screen clad in nothing but a button-down shirt and tighty-whities. “You know, this movie ain't half bad.”

“The bottom half,” Sam remarked, his eyes flicking from ass to window, where it was already growing dark. Most of the city was without power after the storm, which had dumped almost twenty-six inches of snow on Stonebridge in record time. Residents would spend the next couple of days digging themselves out, and parking downtown had become a nightmare. Schools would be closed the following day, leading into an extended Christmas holiday.

Christmas. Huh. Sam waited for the familiar pain and realized he'd stopped dreading the anniversary, though it was only a couple of days away. Maybe something had gone screwy in his head after all.

“We should get some Chinese for dinner,” Rachel proposed. “Or pizza.”

“Extra cheese?” Yuri asked hopefully.

Another arrival put their dinner plans on hold.

Sam hadn't let himself think about Nathan all day. He knew whatever conversation they'd have, once they finally
had
a conversation, would answer his questions. He worried it would be the end.

But Nathan came back as promised, tired but smiling. He chatted with Rachel and Yuri, who made their excuses while aiming some knowing glances in Sam's direction.

“Hey, I still need dinner.” Sam shouted at them as they retreated into the living room, probably to talk about him. “You guys are jerks.” It was only a performance, a half-hearted protest. He wanted to be left alone with Nathan.

“I brought sandwiches,” Nathan said, once they'd gone. “I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a couple different kinds.”

A couple different kinds turned out to be five. Sam chose a meatball sub and ate half of it before his curiosity got the better of him. He wasn't very hungry anyway.

Nathan sat on a chair next to his bed. He insisted Sam stay put in his room instead of going to the couch to eat like a normal human.

“Thanks for the sandwich.”

Nathan eyed the half-eaten sub on Sam's lap.

“I'm full.” And tired. Sam tried to stifle a yawn, but Nathan's hawk eyes saw everything. He stood up.

“You should probably get some sleep.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Do you want me to go?” The hesitance in Nathan's voice made Sam's stomach squirm. He decided on honesty.

“No.”

“I thought you might, after everything.” Nathan ran his hand through his hair.

“You forget I don't even know what ‘everything' is. The last I knew, you were in jail, arrested for murder, and wouldn't speak to me.” Sam realized he was close to pouting.

“I know. I hoped you'd understand. It was the only way I could think of to keep you out of it.”

“By blowing me off.” He didn't add “by making me think you were a murderer,” though the thought was probably visible on his face. Nathan's rejection had hurt, badly.

“I'm sorry.”

“You should have told me.”

“I think this should wait till morning, Sam. I don't know about you, but I'm beat.”

Sam crossed his arms and took a deep breath. His pulse quickened. “Okay, well? Are you going to stand there staring, or are you going to come to bed?”

It was more demand than suggestion. Nathan gave him a wry smile before untying his boots.

They arranged themselves as comfortably as possible with Sam's bandaged head to consider. The stitches would dissolve themselves as the wound healed, the doctor had said, but they'd needed to shave the area to do the stitching. Sam figured he looked pretty frightening, but Nathan didn't seem to mind. He pulled Sam close, and Sam rested the unhurt side of his head on Nathan's chest. He drifted off to sleep almost instantly, listening to the steady rhythm of Nathan's heart.

 

 

T
HE
NEXT
morning Sam awoke alone. His head throbbed, but the pain was nothing compared to his hurt over Nathan taking off again… until he heard the sound of the shower running. Sam slid off the bed and adjusted his morning wood in his sweats. Apparently concussions didn't have much effect on his libido.

Nathan's blurred form through the shower curtain made Sam smile. He thought about climbing in after him but then remembered his bandages—the dressings on both his wrists and his head would need changing, and it didn't promise to be a sexy business.

He didn't know if Nathan would mind him in the bathroom, so he gave himself a reason. Luckily his bathroom cabinet held the needed gauze and antiseptic. Sam swiped the mirror with his arm to remove the fog.

It was the first time he'd gotten a look at himself, and besides the two shiners, a bruised and swollen cheek, and a slight cut on his lip, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The bandage on his head started to moisten in the humid air, so Sam started to unravel it. The wound was clean and sewn tight and didn't seem like it would have trouble healing. His wrists had been rubbed raw too, and the flesh cut, but they had already started to scab over.

“What the hell.” Nathan gave a violent flail from inside the shower and then poked his head out. He looked kind of adorable with his hair plastered against his face, especially with the added indignation. “This shower is possessed.”

Sam smirked back at him. “I see you've met my upstairs neighbor.” He held his breath and tried not to stare as Nathan pulled
back the shower curtain and stepped onto Sam's newly purchased bathmat. The erection that had subsided during his self-examination sprang into action at the sight. Sam had no idea how Nathan stayed in shape during winter with swimming as his major fitness regimen. Maybe he belonged to one of those fancy fitness clubs with an indoor pool.

Nathan dried his lean, muscular body with efficient swipes of the
towel and then wrapped it around his waist. He didn't comment on Sam's unannounced presence, but he frowned when he noticed his ham-handed attempt to rebandage himself.

“Let me help you with that.” Sam gave up the gauze, put the lid down on the toilet to sit, and let Nathan take over. “So, where do I start?”

Sam looked at his hands. The left wrist looked worse than the right, and he held it up. “Maybe this one?”

“You know that's not what I mean.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I need to know the truth. You didn't have any part in this, right?” He flushed and avoided Nathan's gaze.

“Of course not.” Even-toned. Not upset. “Not even a little.”

“Sheldon had a confession from that guy. It sounded so—”

“I know how it sounded. I've heard it. It was very persuasive.”

Air rushed into Sam's lungs, flooding him with relief. Guilt, however, wasn't far behind. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm good at my job. I would have been insulted if you didn't doubt me a little.”

That placated Sam for the moment, but he wasn't entirely ready to let the matter rest. “Okay. Well, maybe you can tell me what was on the damn flash drive. I can't believe there was a flash drive.”

“Neither can I, to be honest. Emma must have gotten a kick out of hiding it.
She
was the Bond fan, of the two of us.”

“Is that why she married you?”

“Probably.” Nathan seemed lost for a moment, and Sam regretted the joke. But then Nathan refocused on his task. “So, do you remember the night I called you over to talk, and we looked at the computer?”

Sam did, indeed. It had been the night Nathan first admitted his attraction—the one he said he'd never act on. “Yeah.”

“You told me you'd talked to Emma about Patricia Feldman down at the station, and it gave me an idea. So I called Patricia the next day. At first, she wanted nothing to do with me. She said she was sorry about Emma, and I could tell she was scared. But finally, after I told her I was an FBI agent and could promise her protection, she agreed to see me.”

Nathan moved on to the second wrist, swathing it with careful, practiced motions.

“So you met?”

A nod of assent. “Turns out she had reason to be scared. She was sure her husband hadn't killed himself. She'd met with Emma several times and could tell she didn't buy it either. And when Emma finally got her hands on Feldman's toxicology, it didn't gel with the autopsy results. The pills they found in Feldman's stomach had barely started to dissolve, which meant someone drowned him before they had a chance to do the job. Probably force-fed him the pills as well.”