Chapter 11
Spilling Secrets
Carter
Once in the hospital, things started to look up, especially since Bob turned out to be surprisingly cooperative. Well, not immediately.
“Hello, Bob,” I said when we entered his room and found him slurping on a milkshake. “We heard you got shot, so we came to see how you’re doing.”
His eyes widened in alarm, and a fine sheen of sweat coated his chubby face. He looked as if he saw two ghosts, so there was no need for the introduction.
“I don’t know anything,” he mumbled, looking at me and then at Thorsen, who approached the machine beeping next to his bed.
“You and I both, pal,” Thorsen said. “Do you know what these tubes are for, Carter? They can’t all be useful, can they?”
He reached for one of the many tubes connected to the machine and gave it a small shake. Bob’s eyes all but popped out of their sockets.
“Don’t touch that. It’s my oxygen.”
“You can’t breathe, Bob?” I said, walking up to his bed. “I’m sad to hear that. Thorsen, leave that tube alone. It’s Bob’s oxygen.”
“Which tube?” Thorsen asked, pulling the tube out of the machine. “Oopsie.”
“It wasn’t me!” Bob exclaimed, wide-eyed. “It was Davidoff. He thought you came after him, so he had you thrown into that pit. He said he would rather die than go to jail.”
“It was Baldie, Thorsen.” I informed him. “It wasn’t Bob. Stop playing with that machine.”
“You could have alerted the police, Bob,” Thorsen said matter-of-factly. “Instead, you left us in that bunker to rot.”
Bob snorted. “Right. Davidoff would have killed me if I said anything.”
“What about Sophie Malik?” I asked him, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Why did you kill her?”
“I didn’t kill her or anyone else,” Bob growled. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal.”
“You didn’t even ask us who Sophie Malik is,” Thorsen said. “That’s suspicious, Bob.”
Bob sneered. “Oh, so you’re the bad cop, and the grumpy one is the good cop. Well, fuck that, Viking clone. I know my rights. I want a lawyer.”
“You’re wrong, Bob,” I said, standing up. “He’s the bad cop, but I’m the worse cop.”
When I pulled out my gun and pointed it at his face, he paled.
“Uh-uh,” Thorsen said, shaking his head. “You made my partner mad, Bob. Not a good idea.”
Clearly, my reputation preceded me because Bob immediately remembered everything.
“I didn’t kill her. I swear. I just threw her out of the club, that’s all.”
“Why would you do that?”
“She was causing trouble, along with the blue-haired faggot she came with. They were dancing and drinking and drawing too much attention to themselves. Some guys started to fight over her, so I threw both her and her buddy out.”
“Blue-haired faggot, you say?” I repeated, scribbling into my notepad. “Do you know his name or is that all you can think of?”
“Luke? Liam? Lyle? Something like that.”
“Luz?” Thorsen suggested.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Bob said, sounding relieved. “His name was Luz.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Twenty-something, skinny, at least six feet tall. Good-looking if you like them fairies.”
“Can anyone confirm your whereabouts on September 8th, Bob? Especially around four a.m.”
“I was working at the club. My shift ended at five. Ask anyone.”
“It’s not exactly a bulletproof alibi, Bob.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” he bit out. “Are we finished here?”
“Not quite,” I replied. “Where can we find Davidoff? We have unfinished business with him.”
“If I knew, I would tell you. He’s the reason I ended up here with two bullets in my gut.”
“Have you fallen out?” Thorsen said, pouting. “Was it a lover’s spat? An accidental bullet exchange between friends? Or maybe Davidoff wanted to make sure you keep your mouth shut?”
“Stay away from me, Mount Everest,” Bob growled. “I’m the victim here.”
“Thorsen, you’re scaring our incapacitated friend,” I said, tucking my gun into the holster. “Let’s go before you give him a heart attack. And put that tube where it belongs. We want Bob alive for his trial.”
When we left Bob’s room, we both burst into laughter as Thorsen pulled me into a side hug.
“You’re a riot, partner.”
I pushed him away, trying to keep a straight face.
“Knock it off. We’re on duty.”
“Not technically. Now what?”
“How about we go home, I call Chief Bibb, and convince him to let us get back to work?” I suggested.
“Music to my ears. What are our odds?”
“Slim, probably, but I’m done sitting at home and twiddling my thumbs while Sophie Malik’s killer walks the streets.”
Once in the car, I checked my emails as Thorsen turned on the radio and started the engine.
“Buckle up, babe,” he said, tossing a piece of gum into his mouth. “I want to get your sweet ass home in one piece.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “God, please let my car get fixed today.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Thorsen said, turning left into a crowded street.
“Someone crashed it into a wall.”
“Come again?”
“Someone broke into it, crashed it into a wall, and wrote ‘cop scum’ on it.”
“Charming.”
“Incidentally, have you found a place yet?” I asked him. “Or do you plan to live in your car for the rest of your life?”
“Not yet. I didn’t have the time.”
I gazed into the distance, debating with myself whether to say anything. On the other hand, I wanted to help him out, although he could be a pain in the ass at times. Most of the time.
“I could call my landlord,” I muttered, looking out the window. “If you’re looking for a place, that is. There might be one available in my building.”
When he looked at me, I shifted in my seat, feeling uncomfortable under the intense blue stare.
“On second thought, it’s probably a bad idea,” I said, wiping away the invisible dirt on the car window. “Forget that I said anything.”
“It’s a great idea!” Thorsen exclaimed, wide-eyed. “My back hurts like the devil. I was five seconds away from begging you to let me stay at your place for one more night.”
“Okay, I’ll give him a call then.”
I held a phone to my ear when Thorsen added, “We’re going to be besties, Dominic. I promise you that.”
I would have hung up, but it was too late. The man on the other side already answered.
Thorsen
Just like that, I wasn’t homeless anymore, and I could thank no one else but Dominic “The Trigger” Carter for it. My reluctant partner who mostly ignored me, tolerated me, disliked me, but who was there for me every time it counted—every single time. I was supposed to move in tomorrow, so it was one more night in my car, but still, small miracles.
“Thanks again, Dom,” I said after we entered his apartment. “You saved my ass.”
“No problem.”
I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass either, so I reached for the duffel bag I brought with me.
“I’ll get out of your hair. Can I wash my clothes here before I leave?”
“Of course,” he replied when his phone rang.
I went to the bathroom to give him privacy and started to put my clothes in the washing machine.
“I’m fine, Vic.” I heard him say. “I don’t need to see Dr. Ruben. I feel much better.”
Silence.
“What about you? Are you coming over tonight or…?”
I tiptoed to the door, holding my breath in suspense.
“I see. Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Brief silence.
“Okay. See you then.”
When he entered the bathroom, I pretended to study the control panel on the washing machine.
He leaned against the wall, staring at his sneakers. “Erm… Vic’s not coming. Her best friend Abigail broke up with her boyfriend, so Vic will stay with her and keep her company.”
“Mhm,” I murmured, removing the invisible speck of dirt from the sink. “It’s probably for the best. I mean, you wouldn’t want her to get sick if you’re coming down with something, right?”
“Right,” he murmured, staring into the distance.
God, he looked so… Lost? Sad?
“Look,” I said with a sigh. “How about I make us dinner before I leave? It will take a while for my clothes to wash, so I’m stuck here anyway. I could cook us something nice. What do you say?”
He looked at me suspiciously. “Cook? Are you saying that you can cook?”
I snorted. “Like Gordon Ramsay.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t it?”
He didn’t say no, so I headed to the kitchen before he could change his mind. I opened the window to let the fresh air in, put on some music and quickly decided on the menu, determined to impress him with my cooking skills.
I was up to my elbow in veggies when he joined me in the kitchen, looking smug.
“What did the chief say?” I asked him, although his expression already gave me an answer.
“We can come to work tomorrow,” he said triumphantly. “What smells so amazing in here?”
“Me?” I joked, raising the lid off the pot. “Or this?”
“Wow,” he murmured. “It looks great. What is it?”
“Courgettes au four en sauce tomate crémeuse.”
He frowned in confusion. “What?”
“Oh, sorry. My French pops up when I’m excited. It’s a creamy tomato sauce with basil and zucchini.”
“Why are you excited?”
“‘Cause I’m cooking for you, dummy.”
He rolled his eyes as I dipped the spoon into the sauce and blew on it before bringing it to his mouth. When he tasted the sauce, his eyes widened in surprise.
“You weren’t joking when you said you could cook,” he murmured, licking his lips in a way that had to be forbidden by law. Had to be. “Who taught you?”
I raised my hand and wiped away the leftover sauce from his lip with my thumb.
“Maman. We would cook together every day after school. Well… until she got sick. Then we stopped cooking together, and I started cooking for her.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer.”
He put his hand on my shoulder only to quickly pull it away as if it crossed a boundary of some kind.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Years had passed, but I still missed her. Her long, red hair. Her beautiful smile. The silky robes she wore, which smelled like her. An apple pie she used to make for me when I was a kid. Objectively, she was a poor baker, but I would do anything to taste that burned apple pie one more time.
“Anyway,” I continued, draining the pasta. “After she had passed, I came to Norway to live with my dad.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Yeah. We keep in touch, but we’re not as close as maman and I were. He’s a decent man. Just not a family man.”
Carter nodded as if he understood our estrangement on some level.
“What about your folks?” I asked him after a slight hesitation, knowing I was bringing up a sensitive subject.
“They’re alive, but they don’t want to hear about me, and the feeling is mutual.”
His face was blank, but I could feel the storm of emotions inside him.
“Because you left home?” I guessed.
“Mostly. They never approved of a single decision I’d made… not leaving home, not quitting the professional sport, not joining the police force. And then there was this religion thing. They’re both devout, while I asked too many questions they didn’t like.”
“Like what? If the bearded man in the sky really exists, just like Santa?”
Carter chuckled. “Something like that, yeah.”
“What about you, Dominic?” I said, deciding to change the subject. “Can you cook?”
“Hmm, I can boil eggs. Does that count?”
“Of course. But it doesn’t matter if you can’t cook. You have me now. I can make all kinds of romantic meals for you and Vicky.”
“Asshole,” he murmured, but I could see him stifling a smile. “You don’t deserve it, but how can I help? Do you need me to chop onions or something?”
“I would love to see you cry, but everything is already done. You can make a salad while I shower.”
“Okay. I left you a clean towel in the bathroom. Just stay away from my toothbrush.”
“But how will I kiss you if I don’t wash my teeth?”
“Gross. And not funny.”
“Thanks for the towel, babe.”
“You’re welcome, asshole.”
After I’d showered and changed into sweats and a T-shirt, we had dinner together. He changed into something more comfortable too, meaning joggers and a T-shirt that looked so good on him I considered asking him to change.
“Is there anything you can’t do, Thorsen?” Carter mumbled with his mouth full. “Because this pasta tastes delicious.”
“Not much,” I replied without false modesty. “But cooking is a passion of mine, so I excel at it. How about you? What do you like to do for fun?”
“I like to read, I guess,” he said, pointing his chin at the shelf across from us. “Dostoevsky, Hemingway, Faulkner, Fitzgerald… Classics, mostly.”
“What else?” I asked him as he opened the second bottle of wine and refilled our glasses.
“Besides reading, I like to learn new stuff,” he replied. “Last month, I finished an online course in graphic design. A month before that, cybersecurity. A month before that, knitting.”
I choked on my wine, looking at him incredulously. Did he say knitting?
“Got you,” he said with a grin, winking at me. “Babe.”
My jaw dropped. First, that wink gave me a semi. Second, was he flirting? No way he was flirting. I opened my stupid mouth to ask him when his phone rang.
“It’s Vic,” he murmured, standing up. “Excuse me for a minute.”
It was a boner-killer. Immediate. A good thing too, because this was starting to look like a date to me, and it was a dangerous thought. Delusional, too. Tragic as well because after our rocky start, it turned out that my grumpy partner and I got on like a house on fire. We conversed with ease, we had fun together, and something told me we would be dynamite in bed. This type of compatibility could lead to some sensational fucking, but sadly I would never know.
Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I cleared the table, wondering if he had any more alcohol lying around. When I found tequila and some lemons in the fridge, I thanked my lucky stars. I rejoined him in the living room, just as he put on his eyeglasses and scribbled something into the notepad.
“You know I’m bad at it, Vic. But, yeah, I’m free that day.”
I filled the shot glasses with tequila, glancing at him. Whatever they talked about made him anxious.
“Okay. Talk to you then. And say hello to Abigail for me.”
When he hung up, I handed him his drink before settling in my chair.
He smirked, taking off his eyeglasses. “Are we celebrating something?”
“Nah, I just want to get drunk. Santé.”
“Cheers.”
“Eyeglasses suit you, by the way,” I said, as he resumed his seat. “You look like one of those sexy professors everyone wants to shag in college.”
He chuckled. “Thanks?”
I smiled too as he refilled our glasses and pushed mine toward me. The liquid sloshed, spilling over the rim before I caught the glass and brought it to my mouth.
He seemed to be in a good mood, and it made me realize I never saw him this relaxed before. Usually, there was always something tense about him: his knee bouncing, his hand running through his hair, the trapped look in his eyes. But today, he seemed at ease… happy even.
“You mentioned graphic design,” I said, pouring us some more tequila. “It doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”
He licked the back of his hand, sprinkled some salt on it, and licked the salt off before drinking up. After he sucked on a lemon wedge, he made a face, making me smile.
“Why not?” he asked me as I drank up.
“Dunno,” I replied, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I expected some kind of physical activity to be more up your alley. If you hadn’t told me that you used to be a gymnast, I would say swimming.”
“Why?”
“You have the body for it,” I replied, allowing my eyes to slide down his chest. “Torso. Shoulders. Legs. Ass.”
He laughed. “Leave my ass out of the conversation, Thorsen.”
He sprinkled salt on the back of his hand, but before he could lick it, I grabbed his hand and licked the salt off his skin.
“Asshole,” he muttered, yanking his hand away as I burst into laughter because his expression just killed me. “Why did you do that?”
“‘Cause I like to ruffle your feathers, babe.”
When he sprinkled salt on his hand and licked the spot that still glistened with my saliva, my dick swelled. Fucking hell. I was going from throbbing to semi and then back again the entire evening, and now this. What was I? A monk?
He could have licked another spot. A voice in my head whispered. Maybe he wanted to know what you taste like.
Yeah, I know, voice in my head. Also, fuck off.
While I was talking to myself like a proper loony, Carter refilled our glasses and pushed mine toward me.
“By the way,” I said, catching the glass. “What is it you’re bad at?”
“What do you mean?”
I tried to concentrate on my answer because… What was this? Our fifth shot? Tenth? I couldn’t remember, but the bottle on the table seemed a little blurry.
“You told Vicky on the phone that you’re bad at something. I already know you’re good at punching people, solving crime, and breaking hearts. So, what is it you don’t know?”
He made a face. “Oh, it’s just this party we’re going to. Vic’s mother is throwing it, so I can’t say no. The problem is, it requires dancing, and I suck at dancing.”
“Really?” I said, cocking my eyebrows. “Two left feet? The lack of musicality? Just plain hatred of the activity?”
“All of the above.”
“Well, you’re lucky you have me.” I informed him, standing up. “I’m an excellent dancer.”
He looked at me incredulously as I went to the kitchen to turn up the volume on the radio. When I returned, he gave me a warning look.
“No way. Absolutely not.”
“Come on. There’s nothing to it. You’ll see. I’ll teach you.”
“I’m not dancing with you, Thorsen,” he exclaimed, looking at me as if I had gone mad.
I rolled my eyes.
“This isn’t dancing. It’s practicing. Do you want to embarrass your girlfriend in front of her family? Or do you want to Travolta your way in there, impress the rich folks, and get some action when you take your girl home?”
“I don’t need you to get action,” he said, slapping my hand away when I reached for him. “No! Get away from me.”
“Don’t be such a child. Get up and grow some balls.”
“My balls are big enough. And I’m not doing it.”
“Come on, partner. We’re both drunk. We won’t remember it tomorrow, anyway,” I persisted.
Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and allowed me to pull him up, glancing toward the window.
“If anyone sees this… I’ll kill you.”
“No one can see us. It’s dark outside, and it’s late. People are watching TV or eating dinner or fucking.”
“God, I can’t do this,” he whined, flinching when I put my hand on his waist. “It’s just too weird.”
“I’ll be the girl, okay?” I said, reaching for his hand and putting it on my shoulder. “Now put your other hand in mine.”
He did what I said, glancing over his shoulder at the window.
“No one is watching, you idiot. Now just concentrate… and move.”
“What do you mean, move?”
“I mean, move like I do.”
He looked down at our feet, which were moving in the slow rhythm of the music. And they moved in perfect sync, so I had no clue what he was talking about. He could dance just fine.
“Oh,” he muttered, sounding puzzled. “It’s actually working.”
“Of course, it’s working. You’ve got rhythm, man.”
“Huh! Vic has been trying to teach me for years. She gave up after I stepped on her toes too many times.”
“Well, my toes are bigger, and I won’t feel a thing.”
He let out an incredulous chuckle. “I bet. You’re like the biggest asshole I have ever seen.”
“Literally or metaphorically?”
“Both, but this time I mean literally. What are you eating, man? Steroids for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”
I grinned. “Mother Nature was generous. With everything.”
He made a gagging sound. “Gross.”
“You’re dancing, by the way.” I informed him. “Congratulations.”
“I am, aren’t I?” he said, raising my hand and spinning me around. It surprised me to such an extent that I lost my footing and crashed into the table. He burst into laughter and snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me so swiftly toward him that I bumped into him.
Well, fuck.
“Someone’s druuunk,” he teased me as I wrapped my arm around his neck, feeling dizzy.
“Show-off,” I murmured, closing my eyes because the room around me wouldn’t stop spinning. Also, who turned off the light? I opened my eyes and blinked, but it was still dark. What the hell?
“The power went out.” Carter informed me, which explained why I couldn’t hear the music anymore or see anything. “It’s the second time this week. Do you remember where I left my phone?”
“No,” I said, feeling alarmed because the darkness reminded me of the bunker. “And don’t you dare let go of me. I can’t see shit.”
“I won’t,” he said, touching my chest. “What is this?”
“My pecs,” I replied mockingly.
“Oh, sorry. Just take a step backward and turn left. I think I left my phone on the cabinet by the window.”
We moved together slowly, both chuckling.
“Where is the damn moon?” I said with a sigh. “Why does it have to be pitch dark in here?”
Ever since that bunker, I slept with my light on. The doc said it would pass, but it was the weakness I didn’t want to have, not in my line of work.
“The storm is coming,” Carter replied. “The clouds are all black.”
After we found Carter’s phone, we lit some candles and placed them around the apartment. Then I remembered something, not entirely unimportant.
“Shit. My clothes are still in the machine.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing we can do about it while the power is out,” Carter said what I already knew. “Actually, you know what? Maybe you should spend the night here.”
I gulped as my heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You’re moving in tomorrow, anyway. It’s no big deal.”
“Right. I mean… sure. It’s not like I’m dying to sleep in my car.”
“Besides, I owe you for the dancing lesson,” Carter said with a chuckle, disappearing into the bathroom. “You crazy son of a bitch.”