Page 146 of Hush
“Who is this lover?”
“I don’t know his name. We met on an app.GrindMe. It is… an anonymous hookup app. We’d met several times before. But I never learned his name.”
“How would you get in contact with him?”
“Through the app. Messaging him. He had a profile.”
“Had?”
“It has been deleted. I cannot find him.” Real pain threaded through Kryukov’s voice, weighted down his words.
“Is that usual? That people delete their profiles onGrindMe?”
Behind Tom, Mike stiffened, and Tom heard his soft inhale, the shuffle of his shoes against the carpet.
“Very. People come on and off the app. Delete the app for different reasons.”
“And is this the only way you’ve contacted this man?”
“Yes.”
“Did the FBI ever ask you about this man?”
“They did. But they say they could not find him. ThatGrindMedoes not keep user data, and they could not find him if the company keeps no logs.”
“Could you describe him for the court?”
“Middle-aged. Dark hair, cut short. Slender, but strong. He was what the app called ‘clean cut’.” Kryukov smiled, wistful. “I liked him a lot.”
“Anything else?” Renner pressed, as if he knew there was more, as if he was trying to jog Kryukov back to his own testimony.
Kryukov nodded, blinking, focusing. “Yes. He had tattoo. On his—on his butt. A rainbow with a crown on top, a bit tilted.”
Tom’s world came to a blinding, screeching halt.
Mike surged forward, hovering behind him. Tom could feel him vibrating, feel his restraint, the raw power that Mike had within him being held back by every micron of Mike’s being.
Ballard rose, shaking his head and throwing his hands out. “Objection. What doesanyof this have to do with the case? Why are we hearing about Mr. Kryukov’s lost lover?”
“Your Honor, we’re attempting to find this man. The FBI and the prosecution have failed to identify or locate him.”
“We’re not a dating service!”
“Your Honor, this man may represent the only individual who knows if my client sent that text or not!” Renner hesitated. “Your Honor?”
Renner’s voice, Ballard’s voice, the hushed whispers of the courtroom—everything came through as if Tom were stuck underwater, had plunged into the deep end of a giant pool and was struggling to free himself. Was someone holding him down, pushing him underwater? What was happening?
Mike’s hand landed on his shoulder. His grip was firm, squeezing hard, even through the bulletproof vest he wore. “Judge Brewer,” Mike growled. His voice shook. “You’re very pale.”
God, what must Mike be thinking? Oh, God…
He took a breath, and then another, slow inhales through his open mouth. Cold sweat beaded on his skin. His spine shivered, the echo of a lover’s kiss.
“The court needs a recess,” he breathed. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to see both counselors in my chambers. Special Agent Barnes as well.”
Twin expressions of confusion stared at him, Renner and Ballard, frozen in place like dumbfounded goldfish. Renner blinked. Ballard’s eyes narrowed.
Tom rose and climbed down from the bench before the bailiff could sputter, “All rise!” He slipped past Mike, ducking past his burning, haunted eyes and his reaching hands. Tom spotted the jury staring at him, confused and frowning, looking back and forth among each other. Reporters chattered, their conversations rising like a crashing wave, breaking through the hum, the roar that was crescendoing through his world.
