Fated (10 page)

Straightening slightly, Hart answered and gruffly said, “Hello.”

“Hi, it’s uh… me. Isaac.” Hart wanted to laugh, but he held himself in check and stayed silent. “I… Am I disturbing you? I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but I can always… call back. Or. Not.”

Hart huffed on a laugh, a smile cracking his face wide open. “It’s fine, Isaac. I just got home.”

“You’re
home
?” Isaac’s voice rose with excitement, or something like it.

“No. I mean, Dad’s house. Wait, where are you if you’re not at my place?”

“Oh, I was just grabbing some food at my mom’s. Your kitchen is so clean I don’t want to risk messing it up.”

“Isaac.” He sighed and sank back into the couch, the leather creaking beneath him. The thought that Isaac might be that perceptive of Hart’s mild neuroses made him cringe inwardly. “I told you to help yourself to anything and everything in the house. That’s kind of the idea of house-sitting. You don’t have to cross the street every time you want grilled cheese.”

“I know. I’d just… hate to mess up.”

“You won’t mess up. How are the fish doing?” Closing his eyes he listened to Isaac’s voice rising and falling as he talked about the Sunburst birthing eighteen little fry. When he shifted deeper into the couch, something hard poked him in the back, and he winced. Well, at least he’d found the remote. As he dug it out, his hand caught on something sharp. His fingers closed on metal, and he pulled and unearthed the car keys. Hart laughed under his breath and tossed them onto the coffee table.

“What is it?” Isaac asked.

“Nothing. Just… I’m finding things in strange places here.”

“Yeah?” Isaac’s voice lowered. “How… how is it? I mean, to be back there. I don’t… you never told me why you weren’t in touch with your dad anymore.”

Hart rubbed his eyes, squeezing them shut. They stung with fatigue. “It’s a long story,” he sighed. “I’ll tell you some day. How are you?”

“I’m all right. I—I like….”

Hart blinked his eyes open. He’d been on the edge of sleep, feeling more relaxed than he’d managed since the car exploded. “You like what?”

“I like being here. In your house I mean. I like… living here.”

“Yeah?” The admission felt like a big one, and the silence stretched for a beat too long. He liked the idea of Isaac in his home. What he liked even more was the idea of coming home and Isaac being there. His breathing sped up. “I’m—I’ll be glad to be home again.” It startled him, the feeling as much as saying it out loud.

“Really?” Isaac’s voice came through low and warm, and Hart wanted to close his eyes again, ask another question that would keep Isaac talking for a bit longer. Oh Jesus, he wasn’t ready for this.

“Well. I’ll be back soon enough. So don’t you worry about using anything you need in the house, okay? Say hi to your mom.”

“Oh. Okay, I will. Bye.”

“Bye, Isaac.” Hart let his head fall back against the couch. If he were in Riverside, Isaac would come over. They’d order pizza or maybe make something in his newly finished kitchen. They’d watch a game, and he’d try to finally get to the real reason why Isaac had put grad school on hold.

A melancholy homesickness settled in his bones, making him feel brittle and alone. Caught in a vault of his past, the idea of leaving everything behind once his father had been laid to rest was tempting. The car bomb, Ben Drake, Toby—they’d all find their resolution one way or another, whether he stuck around or not. The coffee cup felt lukewarm when he lifted it from the side table, but he drank it anyway. Flicking through the channels, he found nothing to watch, so he settled on a nature documentary, took his pills, and ate the rest of the sandwich. In a minute he’d get up and put the dishes in the sink. And then he’d go into the library and tackle those books. But first he’d just close his eyes, if only for a little while.

S
OMETHING
SHATTERED
. Hart rolled off the sofa and crouched on the ground, gun in hand before he was even fully awake. A sharp stabbing pain in his knee made him move slightly, but the room swam in blackness as he blinked and tried to focus.

A knock came from the front door. “Hart? Are you okay?”

Hart sighed and dropped his forehead onto the leather couch, trying to calm the adrenaline rushing through his system. The doorbell had woken him.

Groping around in the flickering light of the TV, he found the light switch for the reading lamp beside him and with it the source of his pain. The coffee mug lay in shards at his knees, the dregs slowly soaking through the pants of his new suit.

“Shit.” He shoved his gun back into its holster.

“Hart?” The knock came again, more urgent this time.

“Coming, Toby,” Hart shouted, debating whether or not to clean up the mess first, but it would be rude to leave Toby standing outside in the dark. God, how long had he slept? His phone was probably lost to the depths of the couch cushions right along with the remote. The only clock running on time stood in the study, so Hart had no way of knowing. He gave up and rose to his feet. With his left foot half asleep and a crick in his neck, he limped toward the door. “Sorry, I—Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” Toby leaned against the doorframe, arms hanging loosely by his sides, a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bag of something fragrant in the other. Over his shoulder hung an old, worn doctor’s bag.

When he straightened, lifting both offerings to Hart, his black tee strained around his biceps and chest. “I figured you might be hungry.” He smiled as Hart stepped aside, waving him in. “You look good. Creased and rumpled suits you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Hart closed the door and hesitated. His mind felt sluggish with sleep, and the guards around it were slow to rise. “What are you doing here, Toby? And I don’t mean the food.” When Toby didn’t answer, Hart turned around.

“You know why I’m here.” Toby lightly touched Hart’s right cheekbone, no doubt where the couch had left its mark. “I won’t do anything to upset our….” Toby scrunched up his face, color rising. “I want to say
relationship
, but I won’t. I know why you keep your distance, but there’s no reason to. I just….” He shook his head and looked at the floor.

There was something different about him, and as he lowered his head, Hart knew what it was. The normally strictly gelled hair fell soft and loose around his face, a slight wave in it bringing it to life. Still as dark as when it stood stiff with product, now it looked like black velvet. It would slide between his fingers if Hart tried to catch a strand of it, smooth like silk. His hands flexed by his side.

“Come on through.” Hart cleared his throat and led Toby into the living room. “Take a seat, but watch out for the shards. I knocked over my coffee cup when the doorbell rang. I’ll get something to clean up.”

“Still jumpy?” Toby squeezed Hart’s shoulder as he took in the wet patches on Hart’s suit.

His first instinct was to deny it, but there didn’t seem to be much point. “I guess.” He turned away as Toby shifted his attention to the television.

“What’s this?” Toby asked.

Hart halted in the doorway. “I don’t really know. I fell asleep before it came on. Looks like a nature thing.”

“Lions, huh.” The inevitable unfolded, and Hart and Toby watched as a lioness took down an injured antelope in a simultaneously graceful and brutal charge. “A bit vicious, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. It’s their nature, I guess.”

Toby’s dark eyes lingered on Hart, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, but something about his expression was too intense. “Does that excuse the behavior?”

“What?” Hart reluctantly laughed and glanced at the TV, where the pride had begun to tear the antelope apart. “It’s not like they can be held accountable either way.”

“Imagine if they could.”

Hart felt the faint amusement leave him. “Toby, what—”

“Just humor me,” Toby said.

The moment turned awkward, silence stretching too thin. Hart considered disappearing into the kitchen. A glass of wine sounded mighty appealing right now, but something held him rooted to the spot.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Even if you could hold a predator accountable for killing its prey, you’d find they only kill to survive, don’t they? I mean… a lion has to eat. Raise cubs so they can keep existing. It’s… everyone knows that. You live, you die. Circle of life and all that. I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Nothing.” The intensity left Toby’s face, and Hart found himself breathing easier. “Nothing at all. Forget it. How about that bottle opener? I’ll pour the wine while you sweep up.”

Hart rolled his eyes. “You’re a strange man, Doctor Tobias Darwin.”

“I won’t deny that.”

“I’m just going to run upstairs and change out of these coffee-stained pants first.” Hurrying into the hallway and up the steps two at a time, Hart had his holster off and shirt unbuttoned by the time he walked into his bedroom. There was nothing but a small scratch on his knee from the shards. It made him think of Isaac and his cut and whether or not it would scar the ivory-toned, soft flesh.

Quickly pulling on a pair of jeans and long-sleeved shirt, he went back down again. Hart turned on the light in the kitchen and rummaged around for plates and cutlery. His father had a fancy wine opener somewhere, but instead of searching for it, he settled for the old corkscrew.

Toby stepped into the kitchen, holding a plastic bag. “The shards are in here. I’m afraid the carpet’s a bit stained.”

“You didn’t have to clean up.” He watched as Toby bit his lip on a smile.

“You took off the holster.”

“I….” Hart glanced down. “Yeah. Why?”

The grin stretched, bottom lip still caught between Toby’s teeth. “It just suits you, I guess. It’s kinda hot?”

Toby got off on him wearing a gun? “Hot?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like you don’t know what I mean. Like you’ve never eyed some hot cop on TV or anything.”

Hart pursed his lips to stop from smiling. “Hot cop?”

“Oh, shut up and give me a towel so I can try and rescue your carpet.”

Laughing softly Hart took the bag and stuffed it in the trash. “I’ll do it. I’ll have the place cleaned before it goes on the market anyway. Grab those glasses, would you?” He led the way into the living room with the wine bottle, plates, and cutlery.

Toby had already unpacked the takeout, and an unmistakable scent curled up his nostrils. Hart handed over the serving spoons. “Is that from—”

“Saffron on Orchard Road, yes. Best Indian cuisine for miles. Rice?”

“Please.”

“I made the assumption that you’d eat meat. I’m a veggie, so I got chicken Tika and a vegetable Korma. Is that all right? We can share mine if you prefer.”

“Chicken is perfect.” He hesitated, then looked up and said, “Thank you, Toby, this is great.”

“No worries.” Toby looked up at him and grinned. At least the lion thing made sense now. Watching a documentary like that must be pretty off-putting for a vegetarian.

Hart dug the remote from the couch, turned off the TV before more animals could be mauled while they ate, and then kneeled down on the floor opposite Toby, the TV at his back. He reached for the bottle of wine, and by the time he was done unscrewing the cork, there stood a steaming plate of food in front of him.

“I may never let you leave.” Hart watched Toby laugh as he settled in to eat. The earlier awkwardness dissipated, and a comfortable silence fell over the room.

“W
HAT
WERE
your plans for this evening?” Toby asked as they brought the dishes into the kitchen. He rinsed them in the sink and handed them to Hart to put in the dishwasher.

“Actually, I have no idea what time it is.”

Toby flicked his wrist, the shirtsleeve sliding up delicate bones to reveal an elegant watch. “It’s only eight thirty.”

“Oh man, I slept longer than I thought.”

Toby’s hand was warm when it covered Hart’s on the granite countertop. He squeezed Hart’s fingers briefly and let go. “Means you needed it.”

“I… yeah, probably. I have to get on with emptying this house. Tonight I should try to sort through my father’s books at least. There’s an antique dealer in town who’s coming to have a look at some of the furniture on Monday morning. I have to decide what I want to keep, but most of it I’ll donate to Dad’s church. They’re sending a truck around on Monday too.”

“Is that when you go home?”

Hart reached over and turned on the tap to wash his hands. “Supposedly.”

“What do you mean by that?” Toby handed him a towel, their fingers brushing lightly.

“It will depend on what they find out about the car bomb, but most likely it won’t be anything Freddie and Superintendent Miller can’t figure out on their own.”

“Freddie’s one of a kind, isn’t she?”

“You can say that again. How long have you known her?” He spread the towel over the edge of the sink and leaned against the island behind him. The wine had brought a faint pink flush to Toby’s face, and the way he stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, his hands in his back pockets, eyes dark and slightly teasing, made an alluring vision.