Chapter 15

Deckard woke next morning in a crappy mood. Perry had totally ignored his instructions to text for a ride after visiting SPAM the day before, and instead traipsed all over Nova City with his useless best friend, Tucker. Including a stop at the Hoffward. It was pure luck nothing had happened to them.

Now, Deckard was lurking in his own bathroom while off in the kitchen, Perry whistled as he made coffee. That man's a menace in the mornings. Not the cheery whistling before caffeine, though that should be a hanging offense, but Perry himself. The man who'd wound up lying behind Deckard overnight, and woke with his perky dick nestled against Deckard's ass. The one who'd driven Deckard into the bathroom to jerk off in as much silence as he could manage, fan running, toilet flushing, so turned on that he came before the flush had died away.

Deckard eyed the bathroom mirror, scrubbing his thighs with a wet washcloth. Hands off the witness. He wasn't sure if the urge to fuck Perry or spank him was stronger…

The urge to fuck. Definitely. He wiped his groin clean, wringing out the cloth several times.

He's making me crazy. Not just by being Deckard's catnip, but by risking his own fool life in ways Deckard couldn't protect him from.

To top off his bad mood, the bomb team and Nix had done seven— count 'em, seven— false alarm calls in one shift yesterday. Deckard was sick of it. Someone needs to recognize Fox-face from those videos and turn him in. Unfortunately, the odds of that went down with each additional day.

Clutching the edges of the sink, Deckard sucked in slow calming breaths. I am in control.I will rise above Fox-face, rise above Perry— That was the wrong fucking image. His spent dick managed a feeble twitch. I will resist Perry. He met his own skeptical eyes, then bent and splashed cold water on his face.

When Deckard reached the kitchen, dressed for his day off, a sleep-tousled Perry had bacon and toast cooked and coffee brewed. He handed Deckard a mug, doctored with milk just the way he liked it.

This part I could get used to. He took a long swallow and eyed Perry over the rim. "Are you buttering me up?"

"Just buttering the toast." Perry slid a fried egg from the pan onto a plate, added toast and bacon, and passed it over. "Although maybe you could call this an apology breakfast."

"For not listening to me?"

"You're not the boss of me. But I should've told you where I was."

Yeah, you should've. Arriving at the café yesterday evening to find it closed and empty had not been Deckard's favorite moment. But he didn't own Perry.

He munched his toast as Perry ducked down the hall for a fast pit stop and came back, his hair combed and his expression apologetic.

"I know I should've texted you first. Mrs. Goshima really needed help with the yard, so we stuck around to do that, and I forgot. I felt bad for ditching her for so long. Yardwork's part of my rent."

Deckard wondered how much help Tucker had been. When Perry replied to his frantic text with ~At Mrs. G's, Deckard had broken speed limits getting there, only to find Perry and the old woman trimming back overgrown raspberry canes and Tucker lounging in a chair sipping iced tea. Tucker had looked Deckard over and cooed, "Ooh, the hunky boyfriend," and the afternoon had gone downhill from there.

Deckard had fumed over Perry's lack of caution, and over Tucker's teasing, and seeing Tucker aiming his pert ass at Perry, although Perry hadn't seemed to notice. It wasn't just the danger Perry was in but that knowing expression in Tucker's eyes that'd made Deckard see red.

Grow up, Sergeant.

Grudgingly, he admitted, "I probably owe you an apology too."

"For the caveman act where you dragged me out of the yard and into your car?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "That yard was too exposed. Fox-face is still out there."

"I can't imagine he cares about me. I'm fired and the judge isn't even in the building anymore."

"Well, I can imagine." Deckard ran a hand over his face. "As a favor, could you keep your head down till we catch him?"

"Depends on how long that takes." Perry pointed to Deckard's plate. "Eat your breakfast."

Deckard took a bite of bacon and his mood improved. "How was SPAM, really?" He'd asked last night, but he'd been in the middle of silent fuming, and Perry's "No help," had been equally irritated.

"SPAM was weird. There were these two young guys who sat me down with a bunch of training videos which were worse than useless."

"Training you to do what?"

"Increase my minor powers. Or soft powers, depending who was narrating the video."

"You think it would work?"

"What would I do with stronger colors?" Perry raised a hand at the kitchen wall and the pale rose he'd colored it that morning turned eye-searing pink.

Deckard winced. He had to admit, he couldn't figure out what stronger would mean. "Lasting longer, maybe?"

"I suppose. I could put house-painters out of business." Perry raised his hand again, and the color faded to white.

"I liked the rose," Deckard told him. He'd come to enjoy seeing his house decked out in different warm shades, changing day to day. Perry had a gift for finding combinations that appealed to them both.

Perry gestured and gave him back his pink wall. "Anyhow, they had next to no information on the Lithomancer, just that she's at least fifty, which fits what Leo told us. Nothing at all on any fox-paintball guy."

"A pity."

"They did give me an SOS contact number, but then said no one promised to answer it."

"How useful."

"Right?" Perry met his gaze, dark eyebrows raised, and they smiled at each other.

More of Deckard's irritation faded. "If you ever call me, I promise to answer."

"Thank you. Hey." Perry checked him out. "Where's your uniform?"

"Even hardworking cops get days off."

"You didn't say anything last night."

We weren't talking. They'd made it through the evening in a hostile freeze-out, and started the night on the far sides of the mattress, even if they hadn't stayed that way.

"No. Sorry. Anyhow, I'm off. Do you have anything you want to do…" Deckard squinted at his counter.

Where a white square of paper sat next to the coffeemaker.

A new square of paper.

He gritted his teeth and pointed to it. "You have another love note from April." As Perry stood and hurried over, Deckard followed with his phone recording.

Perry looked down at the SPAM logo. "Is there any point in not touching it?"

"Protocol?" Deckard used the tines of a fork to flip the page over.

Answer your phone.

April's usual signature was missing. Deckard was about to comment when Perry's phone rang… rang again.

He pulled it out. "Unknown number." His eyes widened behind those sexy nerd glasses. "What should I do?"

"Listen to April, or… don't."

Perry dithered through another round of his ringtone, then answered. "Hello?"

"And there's the little nuisance himself," an unfamiliar voice said.

"Huh?"

"Hello, mailroom boy, this is Glitter Fox. I have something of yours."

Perry threw a wild look at Deckard, who was glad he'd continued recording. "I don't understand."

Then Mrs. Goshima's voice said, "He means me. He's a fool."

Glitter Fox's voice returned. "Don't tell the cops or SPAM and do exactly as I say, or the old broad dies."

"Who're you calling a broad?" Mrs. Goshima said in the background. "I do yoga. My ass is very slim." A sharp sound and a yelp suggested the bastard had hit her.

"Don't hurt her!" Perry gasped. "I'll do what you say."

"You'd better. I wouldn't mind seeing her go splat."

Deckard tried to figure out if he could record and call the precinct at the same time.

Perry clamped a hand over Deckard's wrist as he swiped his screen, while shaking his head wildly. "Don't," he mouthed. Aloud, he said, "What do you want me to do?"

"I have tracking on you," Fox-face said. "Get in a car and I'll direct you. You're going for a ride."

"I don't have a car," Perry protested. He let go of Deckard to pat at himself with his free hand. Checking for the tracker, presumably.

Deckard suspected there might not even be one. If he could get to headquarters, he could fetch a bug detector. Perry grabbed his arm again, though, holding him in place.

"Borrow a car," Fox-face ordered.

"I can't drive," Perry lied. Deckard had seen his driving license. "Can I bring my boyfriend?"

"The little twinkie in the shorts? He can drop you off."

Fox-face must have been watching them yesterday. Tucker had worn tight bike shorts with a rainbow stripe. No one could accuse Perry's friend of being subtle. Which might turn out to be a good thing, if Fox-face made assumptions.

"Get into the car now," Fox-face ordered. "Both of you. You are at his house, aren't you? You didn't go home."

"Yeah, I'm at my boyfriend's house."

"Okay, move it. No time to leave notes or anything. Put me on speaker and I want to hear that ignition start up in ten seconds or Grandma pays the price."

"Ten seconds?" Perry looked around wildly.

"Eight… Seven… Can't wait to hear the old lady scream."

Deckard grabbed his keys, his wallet, and towed Perry toward the door. Nix? No. He had no idea what they were getting into and he wanted to keep the dog safe. He stuffed his feet into sneakers and waited as Perry did the same, tossing a toy from the closet shelf for Nix so she'd be sure she was off duty. As she chased it into the living room, Deckard hustled Perry out to the car, jumped in, and cranked the starter.

"Two… One…"

Deckard revved the engine.

"Aww." Fox-face sounded disappointed. "I guess the broad keeps all her fingers, for now."

Perry clutched his phone in both hands, hunched in the passenger seat. Deckard motioned seatbelt to him, and gave him a firm nod as he buckled in. The cup holder seemed the best place for Deckard's own phone, still recording. He wanted to tell Perry to swipe away from the call and text SPAM but already Fox-face was saying, "Pull out onto the road, nice and easy. Drive west till you hit Ring Road."

They were east of Ring Road, but then so was ninety percent of Nova City. Didn't mean Fox-face knew where they were. Deckard backed down the drive, reversed, and headed west.

"Read off the cross streets," Fox-face ordered. "I want to hear your voice so I know you're with the phone."

Perry peered at the nearest street sign but Deckard shook his head. If Fox-face didn't know where he lived, he didn't want to give him too many clues. He pantomimed peering into the distance, hoping Perry got the message.

Perry said, "I'm trying. The signs are hard to read. My glasses are smudged up."

Deckard gave him a firm thumbs up.

"Try harder," Fox-face ordered. "Read the next one."

Deckard made a circling gesture with his hand as he powered through the next intersection. The farther they got before Perry complied, the harder his place would be to find.

"I… um… Magnolia?" Perry misread.

"There is no Magnolia street. I guess I get to smack Grandma around."

"No wait! Let me try the next one." Perry glanced at Deckard, who nodded. "Humbolt," he read at the next intersection. Then, "Washington."

"Keep going."

They hadn't heard any sound from Mrs. Goshima, so hopefully the threat hadn't been carried out. Perry read the next sign, and the next. "And… crap, this one doesn't have a sign. I could GPS?—"

"Don't mess with your phone. Don't leave this call. Next one."

Deckard debated how to get in touch with his precinct as he drove. Whatever he did would have to be silent, and not make Fox-face angry. Getting pulled over for speeding was out, even if he saw a patrol car. Voice call was out. Nova City didn't yet have text-to-9-1-1. Texting Jeffries or one of his team was his best bet, but he'd have to wait for a red light, and they kept hitting greens. Stupid synchronized lights. He could have Perry turn one red but didn't know how to get that message across.

"Right on Ring Road," Fox-face ordered.

Deckard turned onto the bypass and picked up speed. They headed out of town. Fox-face had Perry call out the tenth-mileage markers as they passed them, presumably to keep him from switching out of the call. Deckard picked up his own phone, thumbed over to texts, and awkwardly, between glances at the road because he never was good at thumb-texting, sent to Jeffries, ~Sos contact w foxface kidnapped mrs goshima of address look perrys previous on ring road heading north passing mile twenty five

As he hit Send, a swerving minivan made him drop the phone down by his feet. He clutched the wheel to avoid turning the laughing teens in the van's front seat into roadkill, hoping the message had been sent and Jeffries would see it sooner rather than later.

"Take the next exit," Fox-face commanded. "Head west on Kingfisher two-point-seven miles." His directions wound them back through more rural countryside to a dirt road. There, they turned in and bounced along the rutted lane until it ended at an iron gate in a long seven-foot-high wire fence that disappeared through the trees on either side. Deckard pulled up at an angle to the gate, keeping his side of the car away from any camera.

"Get out," Fox-face told Perry. "Have your little friend drive away. Tell him, if he calls the cops or does anything but go straight home, I'll shoot the old broad and you right in the face. Pretty glitter acid. Hope he likes you with no lips and no nose."

"I'll tell him."

Deckard suspected the quiver in Perry's voice was real. He reached across and squeezed his shoulder in a firm grip.

"I can see the gate," Fox-face added. "Cameras on you. Get out and he drives away. You walk up the path toward my lair. Hustle your ass. A little exercise will do you good."

"Yes. Okay. I'm listening." Perry clutched his phone and opened his door.

Deckard made a two-finger walking man with one hand on the other palm, made his fingers take three fast steps, then shook his head hard and made the fingers take three exaggeratedly slow steps. Perry looked at him and nodded. Deckard made a gesture intended to say, "I'll follow you." He wasn't sure if Perry got the idea.

"Come on! No time for kissing," Fox-face jeered.

Deckard took the suggestion to lean over and press a fast kiss to Perry's lips, murmuring, "Behind you."

Perry nodded, got out, and straightened his shoulders. The iron gate creaked open, Perry shuffled through, the gate clanged shut. Perry cocked his head as if listening to the phone, then gestured urgently back at Deckard.

All he could do was turn the car around and drive off down the lane, leaving Perry there.

As soon as he was out of sight of the gate, he pulled over and parked under the trees on the verge. His phone had survived the short fall to the mat, and he dialed Jeffries.

No answer. Probably on a call.

He dialed Zamora as he got out of the car. She did pick up. "What do you need, bomb boy?"

As fast as he could while charging through the tangle of woods alongside the drive, he went through the situation including his GPS location. "We have to be careful, though. Fox-face now has two hostages, and he likes acid and bombs. I don't want the county cops blazing in here with their sirens trying to be heroes and getting us all killed."

"What us?"

"I'm going in after Perry."

"The hell you are. This is my case and I'm ordering you not to give the perp another hostage."

He tapped his phone a few times, then put a hand over his mouth and mumbled, "What's that? …breaking up…"

"Don't do it, Deckard!"

"…might be jammer…" He ended the call, set his phone on silent, and stuck it in his pocket. Ahead, he could see the line of the wire fence.

Staying well away from the gate cameras, he checked the fence where it crossed behind a large tree. A blade of grass wet with spit sparked on the wire. Dammit. Electric. There might be other cameras but he couldn't spot them. If he couldn't touch the fence, he'd find another way. Like the maple at his back.

Up and over. Nice tree. Good tree.

He pulled his belt out of its loops, managed to toss the buckle end up over the lowest branch overhead, and hung onto the ends while walking his feet up the trunk. Once he could reach the branch with one hand, he hauled himself onto it. The limb creaked under his weight. Six feet above there was a sturdier option, but also a much longer drop.

Just do it. Deckard inched himself out along the swaying branch, clutching the bark with hands and thighs. The fence passed below him?—

Crack! The branch dropped out from under him and he fell, twisting away from the wire, rolling as he hit the weeds beyond. Something whacked his shoulder, something jabbed his thigh, but the pain was manageable. He pushed to his feet, checked the gun he'd brought in an ankle holster— still there— and his phone— looks intact. The fallen branch had flipped with his weight and missed the fence, lying harmlessly under his feet. Someone's on our side.

As fast as he could run, he took off parallel to where he figured Perry would be on the driveway.

A couple of minutes gave him a glimpse of turquoise through the trees. Perry's fondness for bright color was useful. He angled closer, ducking low amid the bushes. Twenty feet ahead of Perry, the trees around the drive opened out to a vast mowed lawn, the drive now leading to a low concrete building. Deckard crept closer and heard Perry say, "I see it. Almost there."

Fox-face's voice was just audible. "Step out of the trees and wait there."

Deckard dropped to his hands and knees and crawled nearer, keeping screening brush between him and that open space. He was ten feet from where Perry stood and about to make a small sound to catch his attention when?—

Fuck! The ground dropped out from under him and he was falling again. He hit harder this time, knocking the breath out of himself. As he gasped, flashing lights and a wailing noise made him wonder if he'd whacked his head, but no, looking up, there was a light and siren poking out of the ground at the lip of the… pit he'd fallen into.

A scrambling sound heralded Perry, peering over the lip of the pit.

Deckard waved to show he was okay and slapped a hand over his mouth to remind Perry to stay silent. Although the siren was doing a fine job of giving him away. Over the phone, Fox-face was yelling, "What did you do! I told you to stay on the path!"

Perry nodded to Deckard, glanced around, then set his phone down right by the blaring siren. On the other side of the pit, he dropped to his stomach and said with a faint breath, "You okay?"

Deckard hurried to him, staggering over the stick-and-leaf-strewn netting that had fallen under him. Stupid trap. Stupid me for falling for it. "Fine. I can climb out?—"

Perry whipped his head around. "He's coming on some kind of souped-up golf cart. Coming fast!"

"You pretend you almost fell, set it off. I'll try to hide." He scrabbled at the heavy netting, trying to haul a corner over himself. The stiff ropes resisted him, and he tried to scoop up some of the fallen leaves.

Perry yanked off his T-shirt and tossed it down. "Lie flat. Cover your arms and head with that. Quick!"

Deckard didn't figure Fox-face would believe Perry had somehow slid out of his shirt while not-falling, but he had no better ideas. He scattered what leaves he'd collected over his legs and lay down. Flat on his back, head and arms under the shirt, he inhaled the scent of Perry's skin on the cotton as a madman with weapons roared toward them.