Page 43 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

“Don’t try to convert me to your cult,” Jackson warned, mostly to keep him smiling as he fell asleep.

“You’ll listen to Dixie Chicks and love it,” Henry mumbled before finally drifting off.

Jackson stood and took his hand carefully, avoiding the tubes and ports and monitors. “Get rest, kid,” he murmured. “Heal up. You and me, we got shit to do.”

He squeezed Henry’s fingers, and his eyes grew hot when he felt Henry squeeze back. He released Henry’s hand with a sigh and turned toward the door, not surprised to see Dex in the doorway with a crooked smile on his face.

“You talked?”

“Yeah,” Jackson said. “I was just leaving.”

“Well, I’m glad you were here when he woke up this time. He felt like he had to make a report to you. It weighed on him.”

Jackson lifted a shoulder. “I figured. He doesn’t like to be left behind on an op. Had to keep him informed.”

Dex nodded and ventured farther into the room. “He really loves what you guys do,” he confided. “I mean, we worry—all of us worry. But we can’t take it away from him, you know?”

Jackson met Dex’s shadowed eyes and made a guess. “Lance still mad at me?”

Dex shook his head. “No. He’s got to process, though. I think….” He let out a breath. “There’s that tipping point in any relationship, you know? Whether it’s fooling around or screwing around or yearning—that point when you realize that ‘Hey, losing this person will end my world. Am I ready to love someone that much?’ And the people who answer yes? They usually have what it takes. I’m not sure Lance had that reckoning. Not up close and personal in the way that counted. This… this makes it real.”

Jackson cocked his head and studied Henry’s brother—who was still the most beautiful man Jackson had ever seen, although yeah, Lance came close.

Maybe it was the softness around the eyes or—ever so slightly—around the middle that made him seem so much older. Everybody had a story, Jackson knew, and he was always curious.

“Someday,” Dex said, smiling slightly, “we’ll get together and have a beer, and I’ll tell you things. And you can tell me some shit too. Yeah, Rivers, we’re friends like that. You don’t have to worry about asking.”

Jackson returned his smile. “I am always—always—pleasantly surprised to find I have friends,” he said. “And Iwill buy you that beer.” He turned to Henry again, and while the oppression of the hospital beat on his shoulders, a renewed sense of urgency, of mission, was screaming his name. “Once we get the people who did this,” he promised. “Nobody does this to your brother and gets away with it.”

“Vengeance,” Dex said. “I like that in a friend. What’s your next step?”

Jackson opened his mouth, about to say “backup,” but then he closed it again and let out a sigh. “Next stop is talking to a friend downstairs in the place we don’t mention in critical care.”

“And then?” Dex said.

“Then, backup,” Jackson said with determination. “It’s not even noon, Dex. I’ve got some ground to cover.”

Dex held up his fist to bump. “Good hunting. We’ll take care of Henry. You were right—he’s got way too much to do to fall asleep right now.”

Jackson bumped his fist and slid out of the cubicle, reassured by his visit and more determined than ever.

Which was good, because in most hospitals “downstairs” was code for the one place patients didn’t want to end up, and that took a whole other kind of strength to face.

Bricks

“NO, MOTHER,”Ellery said patiently. “I don’t think you need to—”

“Nonsense,” his mother said briskly. “Your father and I love it in California. In fact we’re thinking of buying a summer house there.”

Ellery’s eyes widened in horror. “It was over a hundred and ten degrees for aweeklast summer,” he said. “Nobodywants to come to Sacramento for the summer.”

“Oh dear God,” his mother said, his horror echoed in her voice, and he could tell he’d caught her off guard. “Well on thebeach, then. I understand it’s only a few hours away.”

“Between two and five, depending on which beach and which traffic,” he responded automatically. People always thought any part of California was “at the beach,” and he’d gotten very adept at correcting that notion.

“Perfect,” she said, back on her stride again. “Far enough away not to smother you, close enough to not have tobook a flightanytime one of you is injured.”

“Rebekah will be hurt if you leave the East Coast,” he said patiently.

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