Page 99 of Under Cover
But as everybody yawned and stood, and Harding made plans to meet at his and Harm’s house in Staten Island the next evening, where “I’ll cook pork adobo,” Harm volunteered quietly, “since we’re out now, and it’s my day off,” Garcia was struck by a sudden worry.
“We’re all… we’re all going to make it home, right?” he asked, hating himself for sounding weak and quavery.
“Hold up,” Chadwick muttered, going to the new laptop set up on the end of the counter. With quick twitches of the keys, he rewound the picture to three hours earlier and then sped through the feed from all six cameras, past everyone’s arrival two hours before, and on until they were viewing it in real time.
“Still safe,” Chadwick said, glancing around. “But Garcia, be sure you check the feed every so often.”
“Will do,” Garcia murmured, and then he sent a troubled glance over to Crosby, who hadn’t moved. “Two more days?” he said, looking at Harding and almost begging for more time.
“Let’s see what we find tomorrow,” Harding murmured, and the rest of the room glanced at Crosby too and then nodded soberly.
They departed after that, in groups. Natalia left her department issue in front of Garcia’s house and the keys on the counter before leaving in the back of Harman’s little Audi.
“I wonder how they met,” Crosby mumbled from the chair, surprising Garcia.
“Harman and Harding?” Ooh… yet another reason not to come out, because wasn’t that precious?
“Harding and Denison,” Crosby said, standing up and wobbling to grab the counter, obviously still disoriented and in need of more sleep. “They’re such good partners. Do ya think there was a group or somethin’, fer people like us, like them, in the service or the alphabets? I mean, you ’n’ me, Tal ’n’ Harding, Chadwick ’n’ Carlyle—what’re the fuckinodds?”
Garcia gave a short laugh as he made his way to Crosby’s side. His boy needed help to bed. “How long’ve you known about Chadwick and Carlyle?”
Crosby grunted. “Mm… dunno. Right after you got here, I think. They… they look and move so different, but they’re still so in sync. It’s spooky.”
“We’ve never been to Carlyle’s apartment,” Garcia wondered as Crosby fell in step with him. “Do they live together?”
“Dunno,” Crosby said. “Cops have picnics, go to each other’s weddings, have bowling night—often live in the same suburb. This job is different. I think… I think fewer of us get married. Most of us are too focused on the job to start families. I think… I think it’s hard to keep a balance.” He paused and slouched against the doorway, pulling Garcia against his body, and Garcia complied, indulging in the chance to lean on someone. “I clung to you, Calix. Our texts. They were a lifeline. But if I’d let go—becomeRick Young—it would have been like becoming another person. One who didn’t feel the pain. But the minute I became me again….”
Garcia swallowed, his heart suddenly beating so hard he wasn’t sure he could fathom the rest of that sentence.
“I’d be lost,” Garcia said, his voice echoing inside Crosby’s as he said the same thing.
They both took a deep breath.
“Bed, Cowboy,” Garcia murmured. “Sleep while you’re here.”
“Seriously,” he muttered. “Sex. It was a thing, right? Wehadsex. I did not imagine that.”
And Garcia was able to pull a smile out of his boots. “You did not imagine it. And tomorrow we may have it again.”
“But not tonight. This blows.” And with that Crosby pushed off from the wall to the bedroom, and Garcia helped him get undressed, because he was that exhausted. But as he ran his hands tenderly over Crosby’s back, smoothing his T-shirt over his shoulders before wrapping his arms around his waist, just to breathe him in one more time before letting him lie down, he had to agree with Crosby.
The no-sex thing totally blew.
AT THREEin the morning, Crosby sat bolt upright in bed.
“There’s someone outside,” he whispered fiercely, and Garcia, who had fallen into a fitful sleep next to him after watching some TV on his computer, did the same thing.
“Wha—”
But then he heard it too. Looking in the corner of the room, he spotted one of the alarm beacons Chadwick had installed. It was blinking madly, and he hissed in a breath. With a flip of his computer screen, he called up the security program and scoped out the six quadrants of the video feed.
“Ooh… there.”
Crosby looked over his shoulder and saw it.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “That cat is fuckinghuge.”
Garcia scowled and noticed the cat, three feet long from tail to nose, washing his paw in front of the door. “Right?” he muttered. “But he’s not the asshole dressed like a ninja who’s on the side of the house!” He pointed to another camera angle, and Crosby grunted.
