Chapter Eight
Research Rabbit Holes and Really Bad Feelings
Nick
Getting the list of relatives of the werewolves Elliot killed is easy enough.
Bree had created an extensive one back when we were chasing the murderer who was targeting humans with ties to werewolves.
The killer turned out to be Dominic, my colleague at both the Department and the Bureau.
Not figuring him out sooner is the second biggest failure of my career.
First is not protecting Elliot from him sooner. I’ll spend my entire life apologizing for the hours Elliot had to spend tied up in that basement because I couldn’t do my job properly.
Not this time. I sit comfortably on the couch, patting Mickey, who’s made himself at home beside me. I’ve put on Cars, his favorite movie, to keep him occupied so he doesn’t whine about the laptop on my lap instead of on his head. He’s completely focused on the screen. Kids these days.
Clicking on Bree’s email, I get to work. Two hundred fifty-six names. I cut down the names of the deceased and the kids. Two hundred fifty-one. Then by people living outside the state. One hundred seventy-two entries.
I create a separate list for the out-of-state people, since we won’t need to do an extensive interrogation. We can get away with figuring out if they had traveled to the city when the murders occurred.
Then I lean back and prepare myself to read the reports of every interaction the Bureau has had with these people. I’m in for a long week.
When the credits roll, I’ve only gotten through seven reports, all of which contain very limited information about the werewolf murders.
We only shared the cause of death as poisoning.
No mention of the combination of drugs Elliot used.
The agents who spoke with the families mostly told them variations on the theme of ‘we found some irregularities in the reports, so we want to conduct another autopsy’.
Mickey gets antsy the moment the screen switches to black-and-white text. He nudges my laptop off my lap with his head. “Mickey, no.”
He whines, flopping down and giving me the full effect of his puppy-dog eyes.
I sigh. “You know you used to be nicer.”
He barks, rubbing his face on my thigh. I click a picture of him on my phone and send it to Elliot.
Me: Mickey is becoming more demanding every day. I wonder why that could be.
I look at my text, every word spelled out. When did I start texting like an adult? I suspect that had something to do with Elliot, too.
Closing my laptop, I let Mickey sleep on my lap. At least he’s grown out of trying to fit his entire giant self on it. I scratch behind his ear while he prepares for, hopefully, a short snooze.
Elliot replies quickly, considering, you know, it’s him.
Elliot: It’s called developing standards.
I laugh. Mickey looks up at me in confusion. I drop a kiss on his head. “It’s good to have standards, buddy.” I pat him.
He sighs before going back to his slumber.
Me: Good thing I come with a seal of approval from the people with the highest standards.
Elliot: I’ve never heard Amy Poehler mention you.
Aw, he likes Amy Poehler now. I’m taking full credit for that.
And she does hang out with the best people.
Must have really high standards. But not as high as this guy.
C’mon, I worked hard to get that seal of approval.
I’m sure if I met Amy, it’d be way easier to make her like me than it was to get Elliot to talk to me for more than thirty seconds.
Me: You think I’m the best. Admit it.
Elliot: You’re alright. But you know who will meet Mickey’s high standards better?
Me: Amy Poehler?
Elliot sends a picture of the dog beds he’s been buying for Mickey, stacked one on top of the other. All sleek and dark-colored, with one white in the middle. I keep finding new ones every time I go over. The guy is a total softie.
Me: You know the way to get Mickey to move in with you. **winky face**
The emoji doesn’t hide anything. He knows it, and I know it. It’s obviously too early to think about moving in together, but I can’t help but imagine what it’d be like to wake up to that adorably clueless face Elliot has before coffee.
To cook for him every day while he grumbles about pet owners and their annoying tendency to spoil animals as he pets Mickey on one of his thousand dog beds and serves him one of the most expensive dog food brands that’s Mickey’s latest preference.
To catch him watching me when he doesn’t think I’m looking. To talk for hours about shows he only watches because I love them. To spend lazy weekends slowly fucking him as he bites his lips until he can’t hold it in anymore and finally lets go.
My phone vibrates in my hand, acting as a splash of cold water on my face. The room is silent except for my rapid heartbeat and Mickey’s soft breathing on my lap.
Elliot: Or I can just keep him the next time he stays over.
I huff out a laugh. Of course, he’s not entertaining my whims. Someone needs to be mature here.
Me: I knew Oliver set a bad precedent.
Elliot: Mickey’s new snuffle mat arrived. Can I pick him up tomorrow morning to see if he likes it?
Me: And you’ll give him back, right?
Elliot: He can sleep in the new bed too. This one has a special elevation for its neck.
Me: And then you’ll give him back?
Elliot: Go to bed, Nicholas. Late-night texting is very high school. Good night.
He’ll return him. I nod to myself. Yeah, I’ll get my precious baby back. I lightly scratch Mickey to wake him up so he can sleep on his bed before inevitably coming over to mine at night.
He gives me a betrayed look before grumpily stomping off to it.
I take my laptop to bed, using the time alone to get through a few more reports.
I fall asleep between a woman complaining about insurance complications if she agrees to an autopsy of the man who abandoned her and her three kids, and a daughter angry about having to take a day off to sign the consent forms for her deadbeat father, whom she’s only met once.
Elliot clearly chose the victims who were complete assholes all around.
***
As I push the clinic’s door open, the ringing of the bells drains some tension from my shoulders, as if my body is already aware of what's coming. If I were a little girl, I’d be skipping down to Elliot’s office.
But I won’t. Mostly because he’d mock all the confidence out of me and I’d deserve every second of it.
I do a brisk walk through the reception area, hoping to avoid—
“Hey, Nick,” Ashley greets me from behind the reception desk. She recently decided to ditch her goth look and is moving towards a more nerdy secretary in a ‘waiting for her dress-up montage to turn hot’ way. Suits her, though.
I don’t slow down my pace. “Hey. Is Elliot in? I’m meeting him for lunch.” I hold up a bag full of takeout containers.
She pushes back from her desk and rushes in front of me, frantically glancing over her shoulder at Elliot's door. I stop to avoid slamming into her. “Uh… What did you get him? He’s allergic to a lot of things. You should probably go buy something else.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you okay?” I mean, the woman is whimsical, which I adore most days, but this is moving towards weird territory. Unless… “Is Elliot okay?” I sidestep her and barrel towards the door.
“No, please don’t. You guys are so good together. He’s so stupid…”
I push the door open, ignoring Ashley’s mutterings. What is she on about? I find Sam and Elliot looking at something on Elliot’s laptop, weird noises coming from it. They both snap their heads up as the door bangs open against the wall.
“Ashley, keep the carpenter on speed dial. Big strong cops around the area have a tendency to forget their strength around doors here,” Elliot says to Ashley with a small smile on his face.
That’s another thing that has changed over the last month.
He always softens his thorns with that sweet smile, at least when they’re targeted at me.
I look behind me to find her frowning in confusion.
“Did you know seals can recognize each other by their voices?” Sam says, ignoring Ashley’s uncharacteristically weird behavior.
I nod. “Yes, and they can hold their breath for up to two hours. But why are you guys watching seal videos?” I walk around Elliot’s desk, sidestepping Sam to drop a kiss on Elliot’s head before slumping on one of the visitor’s chairs.
I dump the large takeout bag on the desk, which barely has any space left after two laptops, a pile of files, and a tablet already occupying it.
“Oh god, that smells so fucking good.” Sam follows me to the other chair. “You were so right. Your man knows the best places for all the food in the city,” he says to Elliot.
I preen at the fact that Elliot talks me up to his friends while he ignores us in his effort to make space on the desk.
“I guess I’ll take my lunch break then,” Ashley murmurs before walking away.
I turn to watch her leave. “What’s up with her?”
“She thinks I’m cheating on you with Sam,” Elliot deadpans.
I give Sam a once-over. “No offense, man, but I don’t see it.”
“You guys are cruel. Both of you.” Sam points at us.
“I made fun of his flirting skills yesterday,” Elliot explains.
Sam takes out the boxes and spreads them on the now-empty table. “I could get either of you if I wanted. Easily.”
Elliot tilts his head in pity. “Sure, you can, buddy.”
“I hate you,” he announces before grabbing his lasagna and stuffing a mouthful into his face.
We distribute the food before Sam can hog all the good stuff, saving dessert for the end.
“Do you have the list of suspects yet?” Elliot asks as we start digging into our food.
“They’re not suspects yet. And I’m still reading the reports. None of them even knew about the cocktail of medication you used.”
“Okay, then, possible suspects,” Sam says. “Send me the list so I can check if they’ve been around the victim.”
I feel hesitant to share any information with an outsider. I mean, how much do I really know about the guy? Just that he’s Elliot’s mysterious friend from college who’s a genius in mysterious fields? He has no stake in this. He can bail whenever he feels like it.
“We’ve got to find this person before your team starts looking into Dominic’s notes,” Elliot says.
Elliot. Right, he’s accountable to him. But how deep does this loyalty run? “Don’t worry about that. They’re not going to find anything there. Everyone believes he was a crazed killer who had no leads whatsoever.”
“We’re lucky he went on a random killing spree before finding out about us,” Sam says.
“You’re going to send us this list, right?” Elliot asks, his gaze intent. Us like they’re a team.
I may need to do some digging on this guy before I can get him more involved in a case that could easily go sideways and make Elliot’s life very difficult. But saying no to Elliot isn’t a skill I’ve developed yet. “I’ll email it to you now.”