Chapter Twenty Four
Boring Tasks, Bleary Eyes, and Buried Confessions
Nick
The biggest disadvantage of working for the Bureau is being stuck with the grunt work. No matter how much of a bigshot you are, if you’re a field agent and are available, you’ll be a part of the Alibi Confirmation Protocol.
Even if it means driving four hours outside the city to check one of the suspects’ alibis on your rare off days.
For all the talk of delegation, there are some boring tasks that even I can’t escape.
But considering Dominic, the person I’ve been delegating most of my work to, joined me, I can’t very well say it’s all on my shoulders.
And Sloan is here too… for some reason.
The day was exhausting, and I’m glad it’s over. If only the drive back would end before I give in to the sweet oblivion of sleep. Then again, I’m very confident Dominic and Sloan can carry me to bed and tuck me in if it comes to that.
At least the day was fruitful, if you consider ruling out one of our last suspects and ending up back at square one, fruitful.
It wasn’t difficult to explain the situation to the wife of one of the Vigilante Wolf Hunter’s victims, especially after we told her what was going on. She was extremely cooperative. So the chances of her being the humans’ killer were very low, but we had to do our due diligence.
Since we couldn’t ask her colleagues to confirm her presence at the office on both days, we had to sit through hours of footage of her office that she kindly provided access to.
A full day sitting in front of a laptop, looking at tiny people doing the same thing the entire fucking day, makes for very cranky, exhausted law enforcement officers and an annoyed forensic tech.
“C’mon, I’ll get you back in less than two hours, and we've got a solid alibi, so there’s no confusion. That has to count for something,” Dominic says cheerfully.
Okay, fine, one cranky law enforcement officer. “Yes, but that means we still don’t have the killer,” I say. It may have come out as a whine.
“But we’re closer to him?”
“Sure,” I sigh.
My phone buzzes, saving me from another empty platitude Dominic was gearing up for.
Elliot: Someone asked me today if her cats could be conspiring to murder her because she found a peanut in her cereal, and she’s mildly allergic.
I smile down at my phone.
Me: Were u more woried abt cat conspiracy or the mildly allergic part? I text back.
Elliot: Oh, her cats are definitely planning to kill her. I would too, if I were them. Peanuts might not be the way to go, though. Or maybe they’re trying slow poisoning?
I snort a laugh. I see Dominic looking at me with interest.
“Just Elliot,” I tell him.
Smelling gossip, Sloan leans forward between our seats. Wasn’t she sleeping? “The man who single-handedly saved the women of LA from Nick’s awkward flirting?” she asks.
“Hey, I’m great at flirting with women,” I defend.
“Ask my many, many exes.” Or Elliot. He seems to think I’m good at it even when there’s no flirting in sight.
Like with Nat, who’s a fellow Bureau agent.
Not an on-field one, so our paths rarely cross, but her father held the position I now have.
Besides, she was crushing hard on Elliot, which made the situation absolutely hilarious.
“I would be hesitant to add that second ‘many’, buddy,” Sloan says.
I give her the middle finger. “Besides, you’re one to talk.”
“You’re into women? I didn’t know,” Dominic says to Sloan.
Sloan is silent for a quarter second, and that silence is telling.
I’ll need to do a deeper dive into that silence when we’re alone.
“We’re not talking about that,” she says.
“We’re talking about Nick’s first relationship with a man that’s clearly getting serious, and everyone warned him about that. ”
“It’s not serious,” I insist.
“I mean, you’re making me drop you at his house,” Dominic points out.
Ugh, I hate having friends who know me better than myself.
I won’t be surprised if Sloan decided to join us today just to interrogate me.
“Alright, it’s more than just a casual hook-up for me,” I shrug.
“It has been for a while. And it’s scary because Elliot always has one foot out the door.
To him, I’m nothing more than a guy he sometimes tolerates.
” I confess. I’m not confused by all the baked goods or the unsolicited texts.
But I’m hopeless. I haven’t even asked him a single question about werewolves in weeks. I’m almost ready to believe my instincts were pointing me towards him for all the right reasons and not because there’s something wrong with him.
I want to tell him I like him, maybe more than that. That we’re not just a hookup. I want to give this thing a real try.
We spend most nights together, for fuck’s sake.
I love spending time with him, being around him, or just being in the same place as him.
I wait for his texts every minute I’m not physically with him.
Every day, it’s becoming impossible to imagine my life without him, and I’m afraid I might just chain him to my bed and lock the room if he ever tries to leave me.
But I know the second I utter any of it, he’d bolt. Then I might really find out if I’m capable enough of locking someone in my apartment. I’m scared I won’t like the result.
“First relationships can be confusing. The second or third try would be better,” Sloan breaks the silence that descended in the car. She pats my shoulder.
I roll my eyes and yawn reflexively. “It’s not my first relationship. And was that supposed to help? Because that did not help,” I tell her.
Sloan sighs. “I could have helped if you had brought him to hang out with us, like ever. I don’t know shit about him.
And I can kinda believe he doesn’t do relationships.
Aren’t we supposed to believe when people tell us something about themselves?
Didn’t we already learn that lesson collectively as a community? ”
“Again, not helpful,” I say.
“Okayyy. Most relationships end anyway. And we’re all going to die eventually. I will die, you will die, Dominic will die. Elliot will also die. So what’s the point of anything anyway? Was that helpful?” she asks with a hopeful voice.
“Wow.” Serves me right to ask for advice from my one friend who’s terrible at it. Jell-O shots with questionable ingredients? Sloan is your girl. Advice? Run the other way. How did I forget? Oh, wait, I didn’t. She inserted herself into the conversation.
“Not helpful? Ugh, listen, whenever I've seen that little loner of a man talk with anyone but Ollie, the conversations ended within two seconds flat. He literally walked away when Marcus tried to get him to talk about animal carcasses,” she reminisces.
I laugh at the memory. “He looked so confused, all like, why is this man speaking words at me?”
“Exactly, but he humored your politeness and small talk. Hell, that's probably the most I've heard him talk. And that was before you even got together. You're obviously more than just a hookup, dude.”
I smile. Can she be right? Maybe I can really talk to Elliot? What's the worst that could happen? He’ll stomp on my heart and make a biting remark about how bloody I made the place?
“Hey, remember when Matt tried to do the whole ‘trying to impress Ollie's friend’ thing?” Sloan pokes me on the shoulder.
We both dissolve into wheezes. It's hard not to, remembering Matt's sulky face at Elliot’s mean comments. He’s come a long way, though. Matt, not Elliot. Elliot is still a mean bastard.
Dominic smiles. ”I’d love to meet him someday. Maybe he can join us at one of the brunches? You could have brought him to the last one, I’m sure everyone would have loved that,” he says.
As if Elliot would voluntarily hang out with people he doesn’t know well and isn’t getting paid to be around. “Maybe. He had a conference thing in Arizona last time we did a proper brunch that didn’t turn into a work session,” I say.
Dominic laughs. “We’ve been doing that a lot, haven’t we?”
“That’s why we need to catch the killers, man. I miss brunch food,” Sloan whines.
Dominic nods. “I’m almost done getting the buyer lists from all the suppliers. There are just two left. I received one in my email when we were still at Estell’s. I’ll look through it tonight and send you the names that have any quantity discrepancies.”
“So, that’s what now, two hundred places that ordered higher quantities of the drugs more than once?” Sloan snarks.
Dominic nods. “I know that’s still a lot, but it’s at least trackable.”
I yawn. “For sure,” I encourage him. “Hey, wait, why did you take this turn? There’ll be so much traffic right now,” I complain when I notice Dom has veered off the GPS path.
“Oh, don’t worry, I know a shortcut. My ex used to live here, so I visited her a lot,” he assures me.
Occasional trips do not mean excellent knowledge of traffic density. But I just nod because it may lead to a heavy conversation. Any statement that starts with ‘my ex’ has the risk of that. And I’d love to talk about it, but I’m bone-deep tired right now. I flag it for a later heart-to-heart.
We run into traffic, and Dom apologizes a hundred times before finally dropping me off at Elliot’s.
I know he’s home because he’s been coming back on time ever since he started crocheting and turned his house into a grandma’s wet dream.
Not that I’ll ever say that. I don’t want to be killed by slow poisoning.
Elliot looks surprised when he opens the door, but quickly schools his expression to his default neutral indifference within seconds. “I thought you had work tonight,” he says over his shoulder, walking into the house.
I follow him, albeit slowly, because I’m tired. I don’t even know why I’m here. I’ll fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow. And then Elliot would know I just wanted to be around him. “What are you doing up so late?” I ask him because it’s eleven.
He settles onto the couch, and I notice the crochet needle and the mess of colorful yarn beside him. “Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d finish the new collar I’m making for Mickey,” he mumbles, as if lowering his voice would hide the fact that he cares. At least about Mickey. Lucky dog.
I let out a yawn again. “Bed,” I say, taking the needle out of his hands and tossing it on the couch.
“Hey,” he complains while I practically drag him to the bed. I need him and sleep. It’s not like he’s making a real protest. He comes easily enough, hitting the living room lights on the way.
We strip quickly and lie on the bed on our sides, facing each other. He runs his fingers over my face, brushing them over my scruff. I relax deeper into the bed, and my eyes start to droop.
I pull him closer to kiss him. He pulls away. “Sleep,” he says.
“No, come here,” I complain, blinking my eyes open.
He rolls his eyes but kisses me gently, just lips against lips. I groan when he pulls back again. He laughs, not loudly, just a puff of air on my face.
“Where did you go today?” he asks, probably trying to tire me more or, hopefully, to wake me up. He gently kisses my jaw.
“Had to check someone’s alibi for this case,” I tell him easily. I feel soft lips against my cheek. My eyes close entirely.
“Tell me about the case?” he asks softly, his lips moving to my eyelids.
“So close to catching this bastard. Fucking Vigilante Wolf Hunter,” I murmur.
Then everything goes black. I don’t feel those lips again, but I’m too far gone to do anything about it.