Page 12 of Under Cover
“Burger? Taco?” Garcia asked, taking advantage of the situation. “Sorry. I usually carry granola bars with me—I’ve got the metabolism of a rat on meth.”
Crosby grunted. “Can do. But we gotta work on your taste in takeout. There are food carts all the fuck over the city. You don’t got one you can wait for?”
Garcia bit his lip and held up his shaking hand. “Sorry again. Skipped breakfast,” he admitted, feeling dumb. He knew better. The blood sugar thing wasn’t bad enough to be diabetes, not yet, and he usually ate right to make sure it didn’t head that way. But he’d been nervous, riding the high of the quick turnover, spending his night reading up on his team. He’d burned off more than he’d bargained for, and he hadn’t come prepared.
Crosby said nothing, but as they neared a fast-food-studded strip mall before the turnpike entrance, he turned into the parking lot.
“Take your pick,” he said. “I’ll find something.”
Garcia picked the least offensive place that looked like it sold coffee too and ordered a chicken sandwich. Crosby ordered coffee and then, grimacing, a hamburger.
As they pulled into the queue, he patted his stomach. “More crunches for me.”
“Metabolism is nobody’s friend,” Garcia consoled. Privately, he was thinking that he liked a little bit of a tummy on a guy. It usually meant he was a more generous lover, but in spite of Crosby’s sympathy with the Campos kid, he wasn’t going to push his luck. You didn’t break an eight-year streak of nobody at your work knowing about your social life on the first day of your dream job.
Besides, something like that would probably be interpreted as the come-on it was.
Crosby shrugged, his handsome face set on “buffering,” but Garcia wasn’t fooled. He was probably thinking about the case.
“So where in Queens are we heading?” Garcia asked.
“Jackson Heights, if the chief gives us the go-ahead,” Crosby responded, eyes still far away. “The club sounds like one of those places you can get to from an alleyway easier than a street, and the flop is on the third floor, under the staircase. It used to be storage, but the club owner turned it into a sort of hideaway for peeps who needed it, I think. I guess the three of them have been renting it for… uhm….” His eyes sharpened, and unexpectedly his ears turned pink.
“A place to hook up?” Garcia asked, trying not to laugh at him.
But Crosby shook his head. “More than that,” he said. “A safe place. I mean, sure, I guess Ryan and Kurt would hook up there, but I got the feeling it was more a place they could, you know, go andbegay. Jesse loves his brother, I think, but he doesn’t have rainbows coming out his ass. Both Ryan and Kurt tended to have strained muscles and bruises that don’t come from a bicycle, if you know what I mean. I hate the idea of invading this kid’s safe space, but worse than that, if our scumbag knows about this place….” He bit his lip.
“It’s a trap,” Garcia said, horrified.
“Yeah. It’s a trap. Now so far our scumbag looks more venal than vengeful, so I think Natalia and Harding are on the right path, but just in case….”
Garcia got it then. His thousand-yard stare was impatience more than anything else—although he didn’t seem to hold it against Garcia.
“Sorry about the food thing,” Garcia said weakly anyway.
Crosby shot him an amused glance. “Not your fault. Gail put us on ice, so it’s a good time to stop. But tell me what kind of protein bars you like—if we all keep some in our pockets, we can back you up.”
Oh, that was embarrassing.
“It’s not a medical thing or like that,” he said, although his teeth were beginning to chatter.
Crosby shot him a hard look. “Because you’re careful,” he deduced. “Gotcha. We’ll help you be careful. Nobody wants to end up with something like that in their file. How much notice did you get you’d be coming in today?”
“Last night at six.”
Crosby grunted, but then they were up to the window. Crosby asked for a side of fries to be added to the order and paid, handing the bag over to Garcia before taking the two coffees and putting them in the holders. He’d just pulled away from the building when Gail came on the radio.
“SCTF Four, you there?”
“Yeah, One, what’s the news?”
“Chadwick and Carlyle are closer to the addies you gave me. He says Queens is yours if you want it.”
“Well, who wants Queens, but I’ll run down the address.”
“Ten-four. Let us know when you get there and if you need backup.”
“Fuck backup. I need fuckingparkingis what I need in Queens!”
