Fated (25 page)

Hart laughed miserably. His lungs felt too tight. “You think I want Toby to be innocent.” He couldn’t deny the truth in that. Reaching for his phone, he said, “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

“What are you doing?” Freddie made a snatch for his phone, but he anticipated it, held it away from her, and quickly typed his message. Not even fifteen seconds passed before a reply came through.

“I’m seeing Toby later this evening at his place,” Hart said. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I fucking well am. What—”

“Freddie, if we both show he’s going to clam up. If it’s just me, he won’t suspect a thing. And do you honestly think you could keep it together if Toby confirmed everything we’ve been speculating here? Or, that if it comes to it, you’d be able to take out your lifelong friend?”

“I’m a
professional
.” Outraged, Freddie demanded, “Besides, could
you
?”

Closing his eyes would give too much away, so Hart kept his gaze steadily ahead, fixed on the looming Mountain that never seemed so threatening when he was younger. “I can handle myself.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“Please.” Hart felt the fight drain out of him. “He’s not… he won’t hurt me. I promise you that, and I need to talk to him by myself.”

“How can you be so sure he won’t—Oh.” To his surprise, Freddie smirked, muttering
I knew it
under her breath. Then she sobered, as if some of the things Hart was thinking had flooded his brain and spilled over into hers.

“Go on your date, Freddie. And have fun. I’ll send you a text to let you know everything’s fine.”

“All right. Make sure you do, okay? And be careful.”

“You too.” He got out of the Camry, climbed back into the cruiser, and waited until Freddie was safely inside the building before he drove away.

With a sense of mounting unease, Hart rode the silent miles home. All the thoughts he’d been keeping at bay while treating this as just any other mystery to be solved began to trickle through his defenses. Soon they would expand the cracks until the entire wall crumbled. Was he going crazy and dragging Freddie down into his hallucinations? Supernatural beings healing incurable diseases and people hunting them down like demons? His heart began to beat unevenly against his rib cage. He felt his pulse jolt in his throat, and soon it stopped him from sucking enough air into his lungs. Gasping, Hart managed to yank the car over to the hard shoulder and kill the engine before the edges of his vision turned black. The Mountain loomed over him, oppressive and threatening as ever, this time like he was watching it through a telescope. He was, he knew, in the throes of a panic attack and couldn’t really afford to have one at the side of the road in a police car. Hart dug his fingers hard into his thighs, focusing on the pain it sent through the healing burns on his wrist, letting it permeate his mind until there was nothing else in its path.

When he blinked some time later, the kaleidoscope vision was gone. And someone stood by the side of his cruiser. Hart barely suppressed a startle. The weight of his Glock sat reassuringly against his side as he wound the window down.

“Yes?”

A man, skinny and tall, black hair tied back in a ponytail, streaks of gray and white giving him a distinguished look despite the length of it, smiled down at him.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, officer. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” The man held up his hands and backed away from the vehicle, a smile on his thin mouth. “Have a good day, then.”

Hart said nothing, just watched him walk away to his own car. Out of habit he memorized the plate and waited until it had disappeared in the opposite direction before calling dispatch, requesting they call him as soon as they had a match. He drove home feeling unsettled and on edge.

The change inside the house was so subtle Hart didn’t notice a thing amiss, apart from the hairs rising at the back of his neck when he entered. At first he tried to shrug it off, blaming overactive imagination after everything they’d learned that day, but as he made a cup of coffee, the feeling didn’t dissipate.

Deciding to follow his instincts, Hart ended up in his father’s study. A first glance revealed nothing, a second one called his attention to a remaining pile of books on the desk. It didn’t sit exactly where he’d left it. It might’ve been coincidence, but Hart recognized the unease for what it was: someone had been here.

If such things as miraculous healings were a reality, surely a disturbance in the air of his home couldn’t be that far out of the bounds of normality. It rubbed up against him the wrong way, as if the path the invader had walked jarred Hart. He rounded the desk: a drawer left slightly open, his mom’s ink blotter not where it should be.

Hart bit back the curse on his tongue, toed off his shoes, and pulled his gun from its holster. Without the breath of a sound, he moved from one room to the next. Nothing seemed disturbed, but he knew by the power of some sixth sense he wouldn’t have believed in twenty-four hours ago that his father’s home had been thoroughly searched. The irony that the laptop they’d likely been looking for sat locked in his car didn’t pass him by.

When he’d searched the back porch and found nothing, Hart dropped his guard, lowered his gun, and cradled his forehead in his palm. With abstract curiosity he heard his stomach growl, but eating seemed like such a foreign concept. He should call Freddie or Superintendent Miller and Captain Johnson. As he closed his eyes, he could envision what would happen. At best they’d swoop in there with a team and go through his father’s entire house, invading every nook and cranny. At worst they’d shove Hart out the door and deposit him in a motel somewhere, and then God only knew when he’d be able to finish cleaning this place out. And most likely it would all be for nothing.

The chime of his phone trilled loudly in the silence, and it was immediately followed by the warning beep of a dying battery. Some of the tired anger drained away when he saw the message. Isaac.

Miss you.

Miss you too—
he began to write, when his phone promptly died.

Hart gritted his teeth, plugged the phone into its charger, poured wine instead of coffee, and continued to divest the house of everything that made it a home.

T
HE
DOORBELL
yanked him unkindly out of his blessedly dulled state of mind. The box in his hands nearly slid to the floor, but he caught it in time. A good thing, since it was filled with cups and glasses, though he couldn’t remember starting to empty out the kitchen.

He made his way through the hallway and yanked the door open. On the porch stood a tall woman, vacuum cleaner in one hand, a bucket with mops and cleaning products in the other. She had graying hair and a worn face, and was stonily eyeing Hart.

“Hello,” he tried.

“I’m here to clean the professor’s house,” she declared, her scowl deepening.

“Uh, yes. I’m… he passed away last week. I’m sorry I didn’t call you to cancel today’s appointment, but I didn’t kn—”

“Yes, I’m aware he died,” the woman snapped. “But I was paid until the end of the month, so I’m cleaning until the end of the month. Are you his son?”

“Yes, I am, and now is really not a good time,” Hart said.

“I always clean the professor’s house on Thursdays at this time. I can’t come back later, or this weekend. I’d like to do it now.”

“Look, it’s a police matter,” Hart said, getting annoyed. “The house was burglarized. I can’t let you in.”

The woman’s face lost some of its harshness, and she blinked in surprise. “Oh my goodness. Do you know what’s missing?”

“Nothing, as far as I can tell, but you understand—”

“I could help you check. I know where everything goes.”

This probably wasn’t a bad idea, but Hart really didn’t feel like having her in the house.

“Listen, that’s very kind of you, but a lot of the stuff has already been packed away. Why don’t you leave me with a business card, and I will contact you. I don’t know if anyone will be here next week to let you in.”

“Fine.” She fished in the pockets of her apron and pulled out a slightly worse for wear card. Her voice softened a bit when she added, “If you’re putting the house on the market, I can come do a final big clean. Do the windows and the kitchen cupboards, that sort of thing.”

Hart took the card. Gina Cavell. “That would be very helpful,” he said.

Gina hesitated, then turned around and dragged her vacuum cleaner and bucket down the steps. Hart closed the door and leaned against it for a second before making his way back to the kitchen.

He’d been staring at the mess on the countertops for maybe five minutes when the doorbell rang again. He swore softly, hoping Gina hadn’t changed her mind and wanted to come in anyway.

A familiar knock followed when the echo of the doorbell died down, and Hart had a sinking feeling it wasn’t Gina at all. He knew who was waiting at his front door. Steeling himself, he went to let him in.

A genuine and pleased smile met him there, and despite everything, it still stirred a distant longing awake. Hart shook it off and tried not to think about how Toby reached for him hesitantly, like he understood the game had changed.

“What are you doing here? I thought I was meeting you at your place later tonight?”

Toby flinched back, almost as if Hart had struck him. It took a second to remember it was only yesterday he had fucked an orgasm out of Toby that had left him shouting. His knuckles whitened on the doorframe.

“Can I come in?” Toby asked, wearily eyeing Hart as if this kind of whiplash treatment from sex to rejection was a thing to be expected.

Hart stepped aside. “The living room. I’ll be right there.” As he watched Toby walk silently into his father’s living room, he pulled his phone off the charger. There was a message already waiting for him, from Isaac.

Thursday TV night gonna be boring without you.

He smiled wryly and thumbed a quick message to Freddie so she at least knew Toby was with him. Of course the damn thing died again before he could be sure the message had sent. It didn’t start charging immediately when he plugged it back in, so he couldn’t reply to Isaac either. With his luck dispatch would be calling next with that license plate number.

Toby hadn’t taken a seat. Instead he stood in the middle of the room, hugging his arms around himself. All it took was one look. “You know,” Toby said, resigned.

“I don’t know a fucking thing,” Hart said. “And I understand even less. So I suggest you start talking.”

“What do you want to hear?”

Hart barked a harsh laugh. “Oh no, that’s not how it goes. You tell me everything, every sordid little detail.”

Toby’s eyes closed, and his face crumpled. He took a shuddering gasp and lifted his face to the ceiling, like he was balancing on the brink of tears.

“I can’t do that.” He sounded almost regretful. “I can’t tell you everything because I don’t
know
everything.” He dropped his gaze to Hart. “Your father knew, didn’t he?”

Hart didn’t deny or confirm, and Toby took his answer from that.

“I grew up with the Predator lore just like you did, but I didn’t pay attention to it until after I graduated medical school. I never really believed in any of it. And then one night someone drove a knife right through my aorta. I should have been dead within a minute. But then he came.”

Hart couldn’t help himself. “He?”

A small smile blossomed around Toby’s mouth. “I don’t think I was supposed to remember anything. What I can’t remember is what he looked like. Everything was going black, I was freezing cold and beyond pain, really. So frightened. I think I must’ve begged at some point.” Toby dropped his eyes, like he was embarrassed to have pleaded for his life, and Hart wanted to say something kind. He just had no idea what. “I remember his voice. He asked me something along the lines of, ‘Do you want to live? There will be a price, but I have no time to explain, you are too close to death. Do you consent?’ I must’ve managed to speak, because….” Toby held his arms out. “Here I am. For a while I wondered if I’d made a deal with the devil, but I don’t think so. I remember just feeling… good.”

“What did he do?”

Toby shook his head. “He touched the back of my neck. That’s all I remember. Next thing I knew I was sitting propped up in an alley with a torn shirt, and a scar that looked three months old.” Toby rubbed a hand over his mouth, and he blinked like he’d only just remembered he wasn’t alone. “I never told anyone because I’d be wearing a straightjacket now if I had.”

“What is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who is killing these people? Who put Drake in a coma? Why was that last victim buried alive?”

“Hart.” Toby’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I don’t know any of those things, you have to believe me.”

I don’t have to do a thing
, he thought, but he managed to keep that to himself. Anger began to slip through his fingers like loose sand. This wasn’t going like he expected it would go. He’d braced for a fight, and he felt oddly hollow now that it was becoming clear he wouldn’t get one.

“You could’ve told me the truth.”

“Could I?” The question was mildly posed, a soft light shining from Toby’s eyes.

Outside a car neared, and they both stilled, listening, but it neither slowed nor sped up, just passed by. A gentle rain began to fall, and Hart spent a brief second hoping he wouldn’t have to face another funeral in the rain tomorrow. Suddenly he didn’t want to do this anymore. He didn’t want to be here; he didn’t want to talk to Toby; he didn’t want to be on this case. He wanted to go home and feed his fish, watch the fry dart back and forth as they explored their new habitat. He wanted to sprawl on one couch while Isaac occupied the other, munching on awful-smelling popcorn as they watched the latest TV show Isaac was obsessed with. He always bought the season pass since neither of them had cable—Hart because he hated commercials, Isaac because his mom didn’t believe in television—and he loved their Thursday TV nights. And he dearly missed them. Tonight all he had to look forward to was a bottle of wine and a headache, not necessarily in that order. Whatever ill-advised involvement they’d started, he and Toby, it had come to an end. Still, while he had Toby standing there, oddly open and vulnerable—pretty much the opposite of what Hart had expected—he should at least try to shed some light on all this insanity. From the very beginning his instincts had put him on guard against Toby.