Page 60 of Psycho
“Do you want to order breakfast in?”
“Meh,” Lucas said. “Let’s just stop by Cricket’s on the way to class later. I don’t want to move.”
August’s phone began to chirp and vibrate along the side table. He groaned, extending his arm to snag it, swiping to answer without looking. “Yeah?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “Are you okay?” Calliope asked. “You sound out of breath. Did I catch you on the treadmill?”
August could feel Lucas shaking with laughter beneath him. “Yeah. Just finished. What’s up?”
“Kohn arrived at work, so he’s not out murdering any helpless women. But that guy you asked me to look into last night, Devon Nicholls, I got the info you asked for.”
“Go ahead,” August said, rolling off Lucas when he gently pressed a hand to his chest.
Calliope made a terse sound before saying, “So, this guy is the opposite of clean. He’s been in and out of jail since he wastwelve years old. Started with petty crimes, shoplifting, boosting cars, then he graduated to bigger stuff, like assault, domestic violence, and arson. He appears to be part of some street racing gang, which I didn’t know was a thing. An offshoot of the Aryan Brotherhood. And we all know how great those guys are. But he and his little band of thugs are local, involved in everything from drug dealing to gun running. And they are super unapologetic about it, if their social media accounts are anything to go by.”
“So, why is a Nazi gangbanger driving the car of a squeaky clean Russian import/export guy, and why is he meeting with Kohn in the middle of the night?” Lucas asked loud enough for Calliope to hear.
“Oh,” Calliope said, as if putting the pieces together. Her tone perked up at Lucas’s presence. “ Morning, Lucas.”
“Morning,” Lucas said, a small smile forming on his lips when August rolled his eyes. Calliope treated Noah like that as well. Like they were instantly a new addition to their little ‘people with feelings’ clique.
“As to your question, my guess is Mr. Russian isn’t as clean as he wants the world to think he is. These guys usually like to keep themselves six degrees from the action,” Calliope said. “They usually pay well, though, and Devon Nicholl’s has a lot of money going in and out of his accounts despite not having paid taxes in years.”
“That’s a dangerous game,” August said.
“Nah, federal time is a country club to these types. They’re just as comfortable in jail as out. But what does that have to do with Kohn being a serial killer?” Lucas asked.
“I don’t know…yet.” Calliope continued to type as she talked. “But Nicholl’s has a bunch of sock puppet accounts.”
“Sock puppet accounts?” August echoed.
“Dozens and dozens of fake online identities. Some of them are taking me pretty far down the rabbit hole of the darknet. I’m going through them all looking for any kind of slip up. These douchebags eventually get lazy. Hopefully, I’ll find something to connect the two.”
August looked at the sudden worry etched on Lucas’s face, squeezing his thigh before saying, “Let me know when you do.”
As soon as they disconnected, August rolled towards Lucas, dropping his head on his chest. “I swear, sometimes, it’s like she’s speaking another language.”
Lucas’s hand found its way into August’s hair, scratching blunt nails over his scalp in a way that had him pushing up into his fingers like a cat. He never liked touching, but he couldn’t get enough of Lucas’s hands on him.
“Why don’t you just read a book on coding and become a master hacker in an afternoon?” Lucas asked. “Then you’ll speak her language.”
August smiled. “It’s already too crowded in my head. Besides, I still haven’t figured out this whole love language thing. It’s confusing. And that’s coming from somebody who learned to speak Russian in a week.”
Lucas’s heartbeat accelerated beneath August’s ear. “You don’t have to keep stressing over my love language, whatever that is. You seem to speak fluent me.”
August shook his head vehemently. “I don’t, though. That’s the problem. I am not like Adam or Atticus. My autism makes it impossible for me to pick up on the context clues like they do. That’s why people think I’m…weird. I need a book, a manual, a guide. I don’t want to screw this up.”
“You’re not screwing this up,” Lucas assured him. “I’ve… I’ve never in my life felt as comfortable as I do around you. Do you know what it’s like to live in constant fear of touching people? It’s exhausting. I don’t have to be afraid with you. There’s no deep, dark secrets.”
August dropped a kiss on Lucas’s chest. “I just want to make you happy.”
“Why?” Lucas asked.
August frowned at the abrupt question. “What?”
“Why do you care so much about screwing this up? Psychopaths can’t love, can’t form love matches. Wouldn’t you forget me eventually or, at least, become indifferent?”
August hated the strange shock of fear that rocketed through him at the thought. It wasn’t said with any malice, more an academic curiosity with a tinge of anxiety.
