Page 42 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

“Your brother-in-law saved me from the tearful soliloquy,” Jackson retorted, but his chest was tight, and he felt like he might have been maybe a breath away. “I’ll have to thank him for that when you stop slacking and get up and help.”

“Admit it,” Henry murmured. “You were worried about me.”

“I’m a man,” Jackson said, sounding stung, but inside so fucking happy he might actually cry anyway. “I can admit it. It would have pissed me off if you’d died, you….” He glanced at Frances, who was staring at him and Henry with open curiosity. “You jerk,” he finished piously, mindful of Kane’s snort at his delicacy around the little girl.

“Yeah. Pissed off is your default, Rivers. I’ll call that a win. You catch the bi… uhm….”

Kane had apparently had enough of the two of them trying not to swear. “Frances, tell Henry you love him and we’ll go getyou some pudding.” Kane held the little girl up to kiss Henry’s cheek while Kane told him, “Listen, if one of us isn’t in the room, it’s because we’re taking a leak or getting coffee or something, okay? I’m going to send Dexter home after he comes back in to check on you because he’s so tired he’s running into walls, but don’t worry. After me, you got Galen, and after that, the flophouse kids. After them, we’ll go kidnap people off the street. You don’t have to be alone, okay?”

Henry forced his eyes open to meet his brother-in-law’s steady gaze. “Thanks,” he said with naked gratitude.

“Yeah, well, it was rude of you to get hurt when I was starting to sort of like you. I mean, you brought us the most frickin’ ugly cat in the world for Christmas, and I can’t think of another brother-in-law who’d do that for me, so, you know. Don’t stop breathing.”

Frances laughed, because obviously the little girl could see through her uncle’s almost transparent bluster. “You’re funny, Uncle Kane. You love Uncle Henry too.”

“I do, bunny,” Kane told her as he hoisted her out of the room, “but I don’t want him to get too confident, or he’ll stop bringing us hairless cats for Christmas.”

They left the cubicle, and Jackson turned toward Henry, who had watched them go as well. “Great call with the cat,” he said. “I wasn’t sure that was going to be a good idea, but you were right. Kane wouldn’t be able to resist something that ugly.” The cat had been payment for a client’s legal fees, and the office—all of whom had been rooting for the client, whose big crime had been to help bust a kitten mill by breaking and entering—had been called upon to place all of the kittens in the mill. Princess Leia Organa Lilith Persephone Caligula had been the last cat they’d needed to place by the morning of Christmas Eve, and Henry had said, “Hey, you know, my brother’s husband likesweird-looking critters. I bet something this hideous would be right up his alley.”

The cat had been unbearably sweet, but, well, hairless, and Jackson had privately thought she was amazingly beautiful.

Which was why Henry had taken it upon himself to get the thing the hell out of Dodge before Jackson ended up with three cats and no house, and possibly no fiancé either.

“Dumb cat,” Henry said affectionately. “She seems to think she’s a lizard or something. She loves all the fucking reptiles. Even the snake.”

Jackson chuckled, although Henry had said this before. “Happy family,” he said softly.

“Yeah.” Henry blinked at him. “Who got you?”

Jackson blinked back, and in a rush the aching in his jaw and cheekbone hit him—much like Lance’s fist the night before. “Unimportant,” he said. “How bad does the hospital suck? You can be honest. A twelve? A fifteen? Out of ten?”

“A twenty,” Henry said and then fought his eyes closing. “Accent,” he said. “South. Alabama, Tennessee. Thick.”

And Jackson knew he was talking about the assailant before he fell asleep.

“Good boy,” Jackson murmured. “Anything else?”

“Lots of thick black hair pulled back,” Henry said. “Curly. Some gray.”

“Cowboy’s description of Retty,” Jackson told him. “Good.”

“ID’d herself as with Moms for Clean Living,” Henry murmured. “Saw through the peephole. Went for the gun in Isabelle’s dresser. Isabelle handed it to me. They got away.”

“They did,” Jackson told him. “We got them to safety.” He knew Dex had probably told him this earlier, but it never hurt to hear it again. “You did good, Henry.” And now his throat was tight, and his eyes were watering. “Really good.”

Henry’s eyes were closed, but he wasn’t done talking. “Screamed shit as she fired. Said, ‘Caleb wasn’t my bullet, but you will be.’”

Jackson’s breath caught. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Don’t know who Caleb is….” Henry was falling asleep again, and Jackson wasn’t ready to leave. Imagine that—so hard to take his steps in the door, but God, he hated to leave his boy in this awful place.

“Friend of Cowboy’s,” Jackson told him. He’d been told once that premature babies would strain themselves to hear whispered voices around them, but if people spoke in normal tones, they were reassured, and slept when they needed to. He figured if Henry was asking, Henry would fret if nobody gave him the answers. “We think it’s why that woman came after him.”

Henry grunted. “I winged her,” he said, and even stoned and in pain, his satisfaction came through. “Hope her ride got blood all over the car.”

Jackson sat up. “Ride?”

“She shouted as she ran away,” Henry murmured dreamily. “Bertha, hit the gas.” He giggled. “It’s almost a country western song.”

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