Chapter 16
Do Not Pass Go
Eight hours of statements, interviews, and holding cells later, Mal found himself back at the safe house sitting around the kitchen table.
His wrists still ached from the handcuffs; he found himself rubbing where they had once been to try to relieve the pressure.
A mug of tea warmed the palms of his hands and wafted steam into his face.
Hala and Yu were with him but no one was particularly talkative.
Something about almost going to jail had killed the mood somewhat.
When they’d arrived back at the safe house they found fresh piles of clothes and some towels that had been in a cupboard too long waiting for them.
Des had beaten them all to the safe house and, by the look of the place, hadn’t been able to sit still since.
She’d cleaned from top to bottom, vacuumed, mopped, dusted, made all the beds, found and washed the group some clothes, and even washed the windows.
When they’d arrived, Des was cleaning out the fridge.
It was an odd sight, like seeing a fearsome warrior knitting a blanket with the ends of two battleaxes.
Walters talked to her at length while the group showered and changed out of the sewage clothes.
When Hala, Yu, and Mal were finished, the pair were still talking in hushed tones in the living room, which is why they were now in the kitchen.
Mal found himself surprisingly hungry and, in lieu of cooking something proper, had instinctively made himself toast. The first few slices were immediately stolen by an equally hungry Hala and Yu; the second set Mal offered to Des and Walters, who it turned out were also hungry; the third set Mal happily crunched on himself.
He made sure as he was making them not to get crumbs everywhere and ruin Des’s nice clean kitchen.
Once he’d finished with his culinary masterpiece he sat in silence enjoying the cup of tea Yu had made him, wondering what on earth the group would do now.
The midday sun shone gleefully through the large kitchen windows, and sparkled against the freshly cleaned floor and counter tops.
Mal let out a long exhausted sigh, which prompted a nod of agreement from Hala.
They were all dead on their feet—or bums, seeing as how they were sat down.
Mal’s mind drifted to their “incarceration,” if eight hours could be classed as incarceration.
In reality, as Walters had explained, they’d been held in the drunk tanks and given a stern talking-to about interfering with a police investigation.
The police’s primary concern being to verify that none of them had any actual involvement in the murders they’d uncovered, other than witnessing them, trying to solve them, then chasing the culprit into the sewers.
All things they’d been told not to do in the future.
All things Mal was sure he’d end up doing again sometime soon; he would just have to make sure that next time they called the police at a more opportune moment.
The hushed tones in the living room went quiet and Des and Walters entered soon after.
Des hid from the sunlight in the doorway and gestured for Mal to come and talk to her; as Mal got up, Walters took his seat and the spare slice of toast that was sitting on Mal’s plate.
Walters took a large bite of it, smiling all the while.
Mal followed Des out through the kitchen to one of the back bedrooms. He knew Des just wanted to talk, but couldn’t help but feel nervous all of a sudden.
His inability to hide this nervousness made Des smile slightly, but it was only a half smile.
They went in and Des pushed the door closed.
Mal found himself sat on the floor with his back up against the side of the bed.
He wasn’t sure why he did this; maybe he just wanted to avoid the awkwardness of sitting on the bed with Des, but it felt right.
Des joined him, seeming happy with his choice.
They sat there for a moment, stretching their legs out in front of them.
Mal was close enough now to see that Des had been crying; a slight redness to her eyes gave it away.
He knew this had been hard on her, but she always seemed so strong, so unshakeable.
Someone his age who’d been a cop for a few years, who’d lived and worked and been a proper adult.
He waited, wiggling his toes, until Des was ready to break the silence.
“I think …” Des said. “I think I’m leaving …”
“You think you’re leaving? You sound like Yu.”
“I don’t know,” Des said, a frustrated tone in her voice. “I’ve got family in Greece. I could start over, maybe get a police job in a regular city. Give it another go.”
“Is that what you want?” Mal said.
“What I want is to do my job. I want to not have to be this way anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Mal said, quietly.
“Don’t be sorry. This is better than dead every day of the week,” Des said. “I just … don’t know what to do.”
“Can Walters help?”
“Half the force saw me arrested last night. There’s no covering that up. We’re just lucky no one suspects Walters of helping me escape. He’s done enough. I just have to figure out what to do next.”
“And that’s leave?”
“What else can I do? It’s my only chance of finding another job.”
“But wouldn’t you just have the same problems as before?” Mal said. “Worrying about being caught, hiding who you are, and you’ll be a fugitive. You’re even more likely to be found out.”
“I’m a fugitive either way. Might as well try and do what I’m good at.”
“Why is that so important?”
“What?” Des said.
“Why is being a cop so important?”
“Because,” Des said, “it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“But why?!”
“What do you mean, ‘why’?”
“Why a cop? Why not a doctor? Or a teacher? Or a fireperson? Firewoman seems wrong; not the idea, the word. Police have officer, what do firepeople have?”
“Fighter,” Des said, indulging the tangent.
“That’s it!” Mal said triumphantly. “Yeah, why not a firefighter? Why a cop?”
“Because it’s who I am.”
“Not anymore,” Mal said gently. “You can’t be a cop and a vampire. If you could they’d have made a TV show out of it years ago.”
“I know.” Des broke down. Tears streamed down her face and hard sobs rocked her back and forth as she brought her knees up to her chest. Mal felt like he’d been punched in the gut, or more accurately like he’d punched her in the gut; he’d never seen her like this before.
He hadn’t meant to upset her—that’s the last thing he wanted.
“Can I?” Mal said, gesturing to put his arm around her.
She nodded through the tears and Mal tucked her head onto his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her.
Mal whispered “I’m so sorry” as he rocked back and forth with her.
He brought his other arm around and slowly brushed her dark hair from out her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.
Those piercing green eyes of hers stared at him all puffy and red, and she gave a half smile as she began to speak.
“Something my grandma always used to say. ‘If you hunt only deer, fed men fall prey to lions.’ ”
“Old people say the weirdest shit.” Mal chuckled, and this forced a sad chuckle out of Des. “Sorry. Seriously though, I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s kind of our family motto. My dad explained it to me when I was little. Hunting deer does good, it feeds people, but it’s not enough to just do good, you have to stop the bad.”
“You have to hunt the lions,” Mal said, finally getting it.
“Exactly. That’s why I have to be a cop.”
“Y’know, cops aren’t the only ones who hunt lions,” Mal said.
“Journalists hunt lions. They have worse weapons, but they do it. We’ve been hunting lions this whole time, and we’re not cops.
I think your family would be proud of you even if you’re not part of the biggest lion-hunting club.
That’s cops, y’know. Have I butchered this metaphor enough yet?
” Des let out a fuller chuckle this time.
“Are you mocking my family motto?” Des said, a proper smile now on her face.
“No, I’m just trying to make you laugh,” Mal said, squeezing her close.
“It’s working,” Des said, finally unfurling her legs from her chest. Mal suddenly felt very aware of his arm around her, and an intense awkwardness struck him upside the head, causing him to slowly bring it back.
Des put her hand out between them, palm up; without thinking Mal slipped his hand into hers.
It felt comfortable, like they’d been holding hands for centuries.
“You can’t tell anyone I was crying,” Des said, pushing against Mal with a nudge.
“I won’t tell a soul,” Mal said. “You still want to run away to Greece?”
“Maybe I’ll stick around,” Des said, leaning her head on Mal’s shoulder. “I can’t leave before we’ve finished this case. Maybe by then I’ll feel more comfortable with my new pride.”
“Wait, are we lions now?” Mal said. “I’ve really lost track of this.”
“Yeah, me too.” Des paused for a moment, then said, “How did you do it?”
“Do what?” Mal said.
“Keep your secret so long. Mine came out within the first week.”
“It was easy, I just shut myself off from everyone.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It was. Then some busybody mistook me for a lion and starting poking around in my business.”
“What an asshole. Who would do such a thing?”
“I know, right,” Mal said. “I’m glad they did, though. You can only last so long without a pack.”
“You’re thinking of wolves,” Des said. “Lions have prides, not packs.”
“Good job I’m not a lion then,” Mal said, a sly, smug look on his face. “We should probably head back out, before they start to gossip.”
“I’m okay with that.” Des paused, and for a moment the pair just held each other’s gaze. Then, before Mal could overthink it, she pressed her lips against his. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it said what it needed to.
To the ends of the earth.