Page 52 of A Friend in the Glass

Rufus let out a long groan, slumping back in his chair. “It’s hard to play good cop when the target is so dumb.”

“It’s hard to do anything when they’re that dumb. What happened to our food?”

That was when the waiter brought it; it happened like that sometimes. Sam asked for another Stella, and this time, he didn’t get a smile. But the burger was hot, and the fries were crispy, and that was better than a smile.

Rufus had eaten half of his burger in about two, maybe two and a half bites, before he asked around a mouthful of food, “Del’s in hot water financially if the colonel leaves, right?”

“Yeah. And the colonelhasleft. Permanently. So, Conasauga is in trouble. Which raises the question: if the colonel leaving was such a problem, why would Del kill him? I mean, it doesn’t solve the problem. If anything, it guarantees he’s going to have a problem.”

Rufus was in the midst of sneaking several fries off Sam’s plate and onto his own when Sam concluded his train of thought. Rufus jerked his hand back, wiped his fingers on his napkin, and said, “I’m willing to admit that it’s now tough to swallow my killing-in-the-heat-of-the-moment pill when I know that New Haven was doing a little headhunting.”

“The timing,” Sam said and stopped for another fry. “That bothers me too. I mean, if you’re going to kill her for high treason, or whatever the corporate speak is for stealing the golden goose, why do it in a convention center? And why this weekend? I know I’m hammering on Stonefish, but think about it: we know Shareed contacted her. We know she and the colonel were done with Conasauga. Del was panicking. Doesn’t it make sense that it’s all tied together somehow?”

Rufus finished his cheeseburger in two more bites. He downed what was left of his beer before giving Sam a look that suggested he might have had an upset stomach, which didn’t make sense, considering Rufus ate like he was a trash compactor. “I don’t want you to puff your chest out or give me any ‘I told you sos’ or anything like that. But I’m now wondering, where’s Lew been all day?”

“God, do we want to know? I’m surprised he didn’t have his nose up Jen Nasta’s skirt.”

“That’s what I mean, though. When we first saw him, he was talking with Colonel Bridges at the Conasauga panel. Just two guys who knew about Stonefish. But since then, there’s been three murders, an abduction—” Rufus leaned in and lowered his voice to whisper, “—a fucking Congresswoman is involved, and Lew’s known to orbit around these people. What if his orbit crosses over, you know? Like Pluto invading Neptune’s space. I’m not saying he’s suddenly offed three people, but that… maybe I owe you an apology for writing him off as innocent so quickly.”

“No, you were right. I was so fixated on Lew, I missed a lot of stuff.” Sam drew a deep breath and poked at his half-eaten burger. “But I think, now, we need to figure out where Lew fits in all this.”

“I think we need to do more than that,” Rufus answered. “I think we should try talking to him again.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rufus unlocked room 7. The ominous red light of the digital alarm clock boldly declared the time to only be 8:29 p.m. When he switched the overhead on, the hellish glow slinked away like a thoroughly chastised dog. The whole day—the fight on the street, the chase for Del, the sleuthing around Harlem, and nearly getting his head blown off—it’d all finally caught up with Rufus on their short walk from the Public House back to Hotel 10. He was mildly horrified by the notion that he seemingly couldn’t keep up with death and danger like he once had, but when Rufus considered the second beer, side order of onion rings, as well as the fries he’d been steadily pilfering from Sam during dinner, it kind of made sense why he was ready to turn in the same time as nerds with a day job.

Maybe he was finally too old to mix fried food with murder.

Flopping onto the bed, Rufus said as Sam closed the door, “I think I have indigestion.”

“Maybe it was those bonus fries you stole.”

Rufus sat up on his elbows. “You saw that?”

Sam flashed a smile as he shrugged out of his coat.

“Why didn’t you say something? Like, Rufus, stop eating my fries.”

“Because you’re cute when you think you’re getting away with something.”

“I get away with a lot.” Rufus sat up the rest of the way in order to pull his jacket and sweatshirt off. He added, for clarification purposes, “And I’malwayscute, Mr. Auden.”

“Always, huh?”

Rufus tossed his beanie at Sam. “Do you think otherwise?”

“Nope.” He smoothed a hand over Rufus’s staticky hair. “I particularly like this look.”

“What look?”

“This one,” Sam said and kissed him.

Rufus grabbed Sam’s t-shirt in both hands and pulled him down on top. He wrapped his legs around Sam’s hips, keeping his boyfriend—and God didboyfriendfeel like champagne bubbling in his gut—pinned to his own body. Sam pressed kisses along his jaw. One arm wrapped around Rufus, pulling him closer, while the other worked its way under Rufus’s shirt.

“I don’t have any lube,” Rufus said between kisses. “But we—we can still do something, right?”

Sam’s answer was a deep rumble as he scraped his stubble along Rufus’s neck. He lowered Rufus to the bed, freed his arm, and then set to work turning Rufus out of his shirt. His own shirt was next: hands crossing to grab it at the hem, then yanking it off in a quick, economical movement. He bent over Rufus again, one hand palming Rufus’s belly, then riding up his chest as Sam bent to kiss him again.

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