Chapter 14 Drops of Blood #3
“Here we go, buddy,” Michael said. “Let’s get you outside.” And quietly, he added, “I’ve got an extra shirt in my pack. You can wear it and use that one to sop the blood.” Michael and Josh were of a size—two of the smallest in the group, sans Grace and Tienne.
Dad, Liam thought blindly. Michael was such a good solid father figure.
It was hard to overestimate how much dad energy could calm a situation down.
Liam had always been the dad energy in his house—it’s what happened when you were the oldest. But he couldn’t seem to summon that now, not when his lover, oh God, his everything, was bleeding and sick.
They made it outside in time to board the bus, where Josh hurriedly changed into a T-shirt with a Pokémon character on it, laughing a little as he held his own Chicago the Musical tee up to his nose.
The original plan was for the three of them to split up even on the bus ride, but Liam couldn’t make himself do that. He took the seat next to Josh’s and murmured, “Is it done?”
“You know,” Josh panted, obviously fighting the sudden weakness that had beset him the night before, “you keep saying you love me, and then you insult me, cut me to the quick, by suggesting things like this. I’m starting to doubt your sincerity.”
In spite of the worry and the adrenaline thundering through his bloodstream like timpani, in spite of the seriousness of what they’d done, Liam smiled.
“You’d better believe I’m sincere,” he said, pulling out the card that poor Horst Tiesler had given him. “It’s not like I don’t have other offers, mate.”
Josh tilted his head back and gave that wonderful, terrible jumping-off-buildings grin. “Lucky me, I’m a thief,” he said. “Stole your heart already.”
Liam gave a broken laugh and leaned back against the seat, squeezing Josh’s thigh. “How you doing, thief of hearts?”
Josh seemed to melt under his touch. “My head is killing me,” he confessed. “Could you pull some ibuprofen and water from my pack?”
“Protein bar?” Liam asked hopefully, but Josh shook his head.
“Real food,” he said apologetically.
“Steak tartare and schnitzel?” Liam teased, because Czech food, which awaited them in Prague, was traditionally pretty rich.
“I’m missing London and gyro,” Josh said dreamily. Well, the kiosk Liam had taken him to on the way to the train station had been one of the best, with seasoned lamb and cucumber-mint yogurt that Liam missed when halfway across the country.
It was also not nearly as rich as steak tartare.
“When this is over,” Liam promised rashly, “you and me—we’ll stay at my flat and sleep in and then go explore and….”
“And spend more than two hours with your family,” Josh said. “You have good people, Liam.”
Liam did—but right now, all his worry, all his heart, was invested in the thief of hearts at his side.
Liam’s watch buzzed as the bus rattled down the road, and a text from Carl appeared.
Clear. Good job. Alarm never went off.
Liam glanced at Josh again, and his eyes were closed as he seemed to go deep inside himself. Liam had seen him do this on the boat, when his weakness and recovery had seemed overwhelming. He’d close his eyes and find the solid place inside that would keep him tethered to this earth.
He pulled out his phone. Text Danny, he tapped, knowing that Carl would be in the back of a rideshare and wouldn’t have to argue with Josh about this.
Tell him Josh needs to visit a doctor in Prague.
Carefully, trying not to be obtrusive, he felt Josh’s forehead, and found it hot and dry.
Tell him he’s spiking a fever and has had two more nosebleeds.
Fuck.
Yeah. See you in Prague.
Tell the kid he was amazing.
Will do.
And now Liam could see how Josh could boil his life down to “after the job.” The job was done—they had a bus ride, a long train ride, to rest, to plan, to hope, to worry.
To wonder what their lives would be after this big job that would make them all safer in the world.
And suddenly Liam realized how very little his own job meant to him now.
For much of the ten years after that first encounter in an alleyway, Danny had fed Liam tips to find the true bad guys Interpol investigated, and with a little steering from Liam, his department had managed to ignore one small-potatoes, mostly altruistic thief.
The things Danny had stolen—he was especially fond of sparkly things from corrupt crime families, which he would steal on the heels of replacing priceless works of art—had usually been excesses of rampant greed on the part of the original owners.
He’d once stolen some oligarch’s second yacht—it had been recovered after being pawned for cash, which, Liam knew because he’d asked Lightfingers himself, had been given to a local homeless shelter, because Danny had been in a mood.
The things Liam had been chasing had been much like the things the rest of the team was chasing now. Guns. Drugs. Human trafficking. That had been good work, he’d thought then.
Now he was on the wrong side of the law but the right side of history, and his team was doing more good in three months than he’d done with government resources in the last five years.
He’d do this for the rest of his life, he thought wretchedly, hand convulsively squeezing Josh’s thigh again as he watched the beauties of Stuttgart pass by before his blind eyes. As long as he could have his thief of hearts beside him.