Chapter 13

"Why don't we pick up some takeout on the way home?" Deckard glanced at Perry who sat peering out the windshield. They'd travelled almost an hour back to Nova City in near-silence, which was a bit scary coming from Perry. They'd missed dinner. Maybe food would help. Deckard hadn't wanted to intrude on Perry's thoughts, but he did want to be supportive.

Like a boyfriend.

No, like a friend. Professional relationship aside, he would admit he liked Perry and wanted to help him.

And kiss him. And get your hands on his ass?—

"Burgers or fried chicken?" he asked to shut up the obnoxious voice in his head.

"Chicken." Perry came back from whatever far place his thoughts had flown to and smiled. "Thanks. Sounds good."

"We'll both be less grumpy when we've eaten." Deckard regretted the description as soon as it fell from his lips, but Perry didn't call him on the word, just nodded.

They ducked into a drive-through, got the mega-bucket because Deckard figured they'd earned it, and carried their appetizing-smelling prize back to the house. Deckard brought the food into the kitchen, set the big container on the table, and let Nix out into the back yard for some free time. When he turned, Perry was getting out plates, standing on his toes to reach the upper shelf for the smaller ones. His shirt stretched across his lean shoulders and his slacks carved out the shape of his ass.

He looks good in my kitchen.

Deckard stepped up beside Perry, reaching above him. "Let me get those. You grab the soda."

"I'm not short." Perry blinked up through those dark-framed glasses, his eyes wide. The scent of his skin came faintly, a familiar end-of-the-day sweat and warmth.

"No, of course you're not short, I'm just a bit taller." Without conscious thought, Deckard pressed a kiss to Perry's upturned lips. Perry's mouth opened and Deckard deepened the kiss before his good sense returned.

"Oh, crap." He took a long step backward. "Sorry."

"I'm not." Perry took the same step forward.

"You don't really want this." Deckard cast a frantic look around the kitchen. "The chicken's getting cold."

"I really do. And that's your excuse? Cold chicken?"

"No! I mean, yes." He scrambled for the right answer. "Cop. Witness. It's not right."

"Feels right." But Perry moved off, getting juice glasses down from another cupboard. "I'm not going to jump you, though. Don't look so scared."

"I'm not scared." Deckard tugged his shirt straighter. "I'm trying to be sensible."

"That's not your most attractive trait."

Against his will, Deckard asked, "What is?"

A glint reemerged in Perry's eyes. "I'm torn between your competence and your ass. Honorable mentions for your mouth, and biceps, and the way your voice goes deep when you're barking out commands."

"I don't bark!"

"Yeah, just like that."

Deckard couldn't suppress a smile. "You're a brat."

"Guilty as charged." Perry set the glasses on the table and opened the food. "Get those plates already. Chicken's getting cold."

They sat and ate and what could've been awkward silence turned easy and warm as Perry led the discussion of worst movies they'd ever seen.

"The Blob." Deckard capped the meal with his number one example. "The terrifying threat was literally green jelly oozing across the floor. And the acting was sooooo bad."

Perry grinned. Chicken grease had put a sheen on his lips and he licked his fingers.

Desiretugged at Deckard, low in his groin. He shoved his chair back. "I'm going to let Nix in and we can clean up."

Doing dishes next to Perry was a different kind of torture. Every brush of Perry's fingers against his, passing wet plates over to be dried, felt like a prickle of electricity. Perry's swipe at his sweaty forehead with the back of one forearm made his lean biceps go round under his shirtsleeve, and gave Deckard a whiff of his scent. When he reached past Deckard to set a pan on the counter, their hips bumped. Torture, and yet Deckard wouldn't have traded a moment of it for his solo evenings, pre-Perry.

"Dibs first shower." Perry set the sponge aside.

Deckard hung up his dishcloth and nodded.

We haven't showered together yet. That was still a really bad idea. Although one Perry might be implying, given the way he lingered despite his dibs, watching Deckard, not heading off to get clean.

"If you're thinking what I'm thinking, we can't," Deckard said. "Not now. It's not that I don't want to." He gestured down to where his dick had chubbed up in his jeans just from washing dishes together. "But we have to wait. This case won't go on forever, and once we've caught the guy, then…"

"Then?" Perry raised his chin.

"Then we can see if the way we feel so good together is just me protecting you, or something more."

"I don't need protection."

Yes, you do.

"In fact." Perry put his hands on his hips. "If that's the stumbling block, maybe I should stay elsewhere?—"

"No!" Deckard snapped. "I worry enough when you're where I can see you."

Perry's irritated look faded. "You're seriously worried?"

"This guy's made hamburger of three people so far." Deckard never wanted Perry to know the things he'd seen, but he couldn't keep an echo of that out of his voice. He took a breath. "He likes explosives. He probably doesn't like you. He took a shot at you. Yeah, I'm worried."

"Oh." Perry swallowed and seemed to turn his attention inward. After a second, he nodded. "All right, then, you'd better catch him quick, before I die of blue balls." He cupped his groin for a moment, then headed off toward the bathroom.

Little brat. Deckard adjusted himself in his jeans and sighed. Nix whined up at him.

"It's okay, little girl. Daddy's just some kind of fool."

A fool for lov?—

Deckard bit off that word before it had time to form. He liked Perry. The guy was cute, and smart, and easy to live with. He'd probably be hot in bed, if they ever got to find out. The changing color scheme in Deckard's living room— today a soft gray and sea green, with a dark-green dog bed— brightened his home. And so far, that was all. Friendship. Protection. Attraction.

For now.

He took his turn in the shower, scrubbing off the sweat of the day, keeping the water tepid and cleaning his dick and balls with enough roughness not to tempt himself to anything more. Once done, he did a careful tour of the perimeter, the windows and doors, the alarm, doorbell camera. All secure.

When Deckard entered the bedroom, Perry had his back propped up against his pillows, scowling down at his phone. He waved the screen toward Deckard. "I found a branch office of SPAM in San Francisco. I put a bunch of filters into the search and it came right up."

"That's a thousand miles away."

"More than. There must be a closer one." Perry glared at the screen like it offended him. He looked young and pissed off and exhausted.

Deckard climbed in beside him and tapped Perry's wrist with a finger. "Tomorrow's another day. Today was rough."

"One long series of suckage," Perry agreed. He stuck the charger into his phone and set it on the bedside table. Squirming lower on his pillows, he licked his lips and added, "I have an idea of how to reduce the suckage. Or increase it in a good way."

Deckard rolled on his side toward him, so his dick wouldn't visibly tent the sheets. "So do I. It's called sleep."

"Not in the version I know."

"Brat. Give it a rest and get some shut-eye." He pulled an over-stacked pillow out from under Perry's head. "Roll over and I'll hold you." That might be pushing the bounds of friendship, but he could've lost Perry today, again, and he'd sleep better with his hands on the man.

He expected more argument but Perry rolled obediently. Deckard gathered him close.

Hours later, Deckard woke himself shouting, "Run!" loudly enough to bring Nix galloping into the bedroom to investigate. He leaned down to reassure the dog, his heart still pounding from a nightmare he couldn't bring into focus, rubbing her long ears and whispering till she headed back to her bed. Perry said nothing. Just tugged and shoved at Deckard till he turned over, then spooned across his back. Deckard let himself be held, controlled his rough breathing, and kept two fingers over the living pulse in Perry's wrist long after it slowed into a sleeping rhythm again. When his eyes finally drifted shut, the echo of that living rhythm kept the nightmares at bay.

Deckard woke to an empty bed,although the thin sunlight suggested he wasn't late. He sat up. Something fluttered to the floor from Perry's side of the bed and Deckard scooted over and reached down for it, then froze, his fingertips inches from the white paper.

"SPAM"

That woke him fast. He yelled, "Perry. Perry!" as he scrambled off the bed.

"Yeah?" Footsteps charged his way, then Perry stuck his head in the door. Nix bolted past his ankles and came to Deckard.

He sucked a breath and bent to reassure Nix, rubbing her cheeks while telling Perry, "Sorry I yelled. I was afraid something happened to you. You got another SPAM love note. Right on your pillow." While I was sleeping inches away. Deckard really hated that SPAM could casually reach into his alarmed and protected house.

Perry came closer, phone in hand, taking small, careful steps. "Where is it?"

"On the floor." Deckard grabbed his own phone and began filming. Again. Note. Logo. He flipped it over using a tissue. Filmed the words.

~You have an appointment with SPAM intake at 8 a.m. sharp, 643 Lexington Avenue.

April

Perry tapped at his screen. "643 Lexington is listed as a beauty parlor."

"Maybe they got the address wrong." Deckard realized the absurdity of that. "Maybe the parlor's a front. Interesting choice."

"Lots of people going in and out, I guess." Perry turned his phone toward Deckard. "Street view."

They eyed it side by side. Deckard made out the frontage sign. "Superior Coiffure and Makeup. SCAM? Really."

"A sense of humor wouldn't be a bad thing," Perry suggested.

"I suppose." The building wasn't large, but a row of windows indicated a second floor. "I'll take you, of course."

"You have to be in to work at seven-thirty."

"This is work-related."

But to Deckard's frustration, when he ran the situation by Jeffries, his lieutenant said, "Tell Zamora. It's Major Crimes' case. If she's interested, she can accompany Crawford. You and Nix are on train station duty."

Deckard gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

"Don't tell Zamora," Perry said when the line went dead. "SPAM probably wouldn't let either of you into the place anyhow, since you don't have superpowers."

"She might want to have you carry a recorder?—"

"Uh-uh." Perry shook his head. "I'm not going to spy on SPAM the first time I meet them. I'd bet that'd be a really bad idea. No way."

"I don't like you going in without any backup."

"If they wanted to kill me, they could probably drop an anvil on my head in bed, instead of a note on my pillow."

Deckard flinched at having one of his fears spoken out loud. But there wasn't much he or any ordinary man could do about it. "All right. I'm still going to drive you and drop you off. You'll be early, but the coffee shop next door looks like it'll be open. Text me when you go inside the building and the moment you come out. Or if you need anything. Or they make any threats."

"You think they might force me to dye my hair blond?" Perry quipped.

Deckard set a hand on Perry's shoulder. His nightmare still vibrated deep in his bones. "Don't joke about it, okay?"

Perry pressed his hand over Deckard's. "Hey, it was at least a bit funny."

"Really not."

Perry closed the space between them and leaned into Deckard, hands on his shoulders. Hugging him back was the most logical response in the world. Perry said against Deckard's neck, "I'm not scared. Or not of SPAM, anyhow. Of Fox-face, yeah, he's nuts and he scares me. But I think SPAM is on my side."

You're way too trusting.

Deckard had to admit Perry's openness was part of his charm. "Just don't let your guard down, okay? I'd send Nix with you, but she's on the job with me."

"What are you doing today?"

"Train station, unless we get a call-out." Nova City didn't have a public airport so the station was their default beat.

Perry gripped Deckard's elbows, leaned back, and peered into his eyes. "You be careful too, okay?"

"Always am," Deckard said. "Careless and bomb squad don't go together."

"Extra careful, then, for my sake." Perry rose on his toes, pressed a swift kiss to Deckard's nose, and whirled away. "Come on, Nixy," he called as he hurried out of the room. "Fast breakfast. How about cold chicken? Does that sound wonderful? Yes, it does."

Deckard stood there in the middle of his bedroom wearing nothing but sleep pants, a hand pressed to his nose, as the white note on the carpet faded and vanished.

How is this my life? A couple of weeks ago, he'd had a quiet, routine— boring— existence.