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heading for the bathroom.
Jarrett let him be. He couldn't imagine how Eli was feeling. Someone he'd trusted enough to live with was somehow
connected with a dead computer hacker, even if it was only peripherally. That was betrayal, pure and simple. And
Jarrett knew from experience that Eli, for all his so-called worldly ways, never, ever saw betrayal coming. Until it was
too late.
Dinnertime came with no word from Yager. When Robin announced he was running out to get some burgers, he didn't
even bother asking what Jarrett wanted. He did glance at Eli drumming his fingers on top of the laptop Yager had left
behind, but that was it. Clearly, he didn't know how to deal with Eli, either.
As soon as they were alone with the other agent, Eli stood. "I'm going to finish going through my database like Yager
wanted," he announced, scooping the laptop under his arm. He looked pointedly at Jarrett. "Can you come help me? It'll
go faster that way."
Jarrett glanced at Batman, who shrugged. "Sure." He followed Eli to the bedroom--Jarrett's, he noticed, like Eli didn't
have one of his own anymore--and shut the door behind him. "Why are you bothering with Yager's busy work? He
doesn't need it. He found the connection he was looking for."
"I'm not." Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Eli whipped open the laptop and began tapping away at the keys. "I'm getting
online."
"How? There's no connection here."
Eli didn't look away from the screen as Jarrett came around the bed to watch what he was doing. "We're in a residential
section of Chicago. I'll find a damn connection somewhere nearby."
"Why?" His voice sharpened, though he kept it low enough not to get the agent's attention. "What are you going to do,
Eli?"
"What are we going to do, you mean."
"No, no, I'm not doing anything but staying here until you tell me what's going on."
He wished he could say he was surprised when Eli logged onto an unsecured network someone had brilliantly labeled
"home," but he wasn't, not after the 911 call from the closet. He was, however, a little taken aback when Eli logged onto
a local pizza place's site.
"If you wanted pizza, you should've said so."
"I don't." Faster than Jarrett could follow, Eli zipped through the site until he'd placed an order. "But it's going to buy us
some time."
A chill ran through him. "For what?"
Eli only grinned.
* * * *
Jarrett's sole rationalization was that he wasn't a criminal. Protective custody was meant to keep him safe, not for any
other reason. If he chose to believe he could protect himself--
Well, he didn't, but Eli was going to get himself killed, and this was the only way to make sure it didn't happen. Or at
least, lower the odds.
As rationalizations went, it would have to do.
He jumped when the doorbell rang. According to Eli, their window was tiny. There was no telling when the other agent
would return with the burgers, and the fewer agents they had chasing after them, the better. Jarrett counted off to five in
his head. When he heard the low hum of voices, he pushed open the bedroom window.
Dusk failed to hide him from anybody who was watching, but the curtains next door remained motionless, the lack of
shouts from inside a positive sign. He landed in a desiccated flowerbed, several stems cracking under his shoes, and
quickly pulled the window shut again. The blackout blind fell into place, but he didn't stick around to see if Batman's
face appeared in the glass. He bent low and ran for the backyard.
Eli was already there. With his duffle thrown over his shoulder, he looked like his usual student self, a ready smile
brightening when Jarrett rounded the rear corner. "Come on." He jerked his head toward the neighbor's driveway. "The
taxi is going to pick us up on the corner."
Behind them, the front door slammed. Jarrett's nerves jumped, and he bolted away from the house as soon as he saw Eli
move. This was worse than sneaking out of the house when he was a teenager. At least his dad wouldn't have chased
him down the road with a gun.
His heart pounded in his throat when they reached the designated corner, and sweat stuck his collar to the back of his
neck. Eli looked completely unfazed, the little shit, though it was probably a good thing since Jarrett was half-convinced
to try and sneak back. Any chance of doing so was lost when Eli caught the approaching cab's attention, however, and
he held his tongue while he slid into the backseat with Eli.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"You know how to get to Project 69?" Eli said.
The driver's brows shot up. The way his black eyes jumped to Jarrett made it more than clear he knew exactly where
and what Project 69 was. "No problem."
"It's a little early for a club, isn't it?" Jarrett murmured when they had eased into traffic.
A devilish twinkle appeared in Eli's eye. "As fun as it would be to see you in a club, that's not why we're going. I know
the owner. He'll let me use his office so we can regroup."
"Not through Gretchen, I hope."
"Oh, God, no. Trev was the first guy I dated after turning twenty-one."
"So this is an ex-boyfriend?"
"In a manner of speaking. We were never exclusive or anything. It was just fun."
The twinge of jealousy that had sprung up at hearing about Eli's past died with the confirmation it had never been
serious. Jarrett didn't know why that mattered, but he felt better knowing it had been a casual fling. He relaxed more
into his seat. "What do you plan on doing?"
"That depends."
"On?"
"Whether or not Yager got to Gretchen."
The last was uttered with such solemnity, a marked contrast to his earlier frenzy, that Jarrett shut up. It might look like
Eli was running willy-nilly, but a plan lurked in the corners of his sharp mind. Jarrett just hoped it didn't end up
backfiring on either one of them.
Project 69 was one of those trendy gay clubs Ven occasionally talked him into going to, that invariably cost him
hundreds of dollars by the end of the night. There were always pretty men, hot bodies, and enough good music to take
advantage of both, but he was a softie after he'd had a drink or two. Buying rounds for strangers was de rigeur, not a
once in a lifetime thing.
This particular club was a notch above the rest. Jarrett had always been drawn to its more sophisticated décor, the sleek
stainless steel bars, the marble-inlaid tables, the subdued tapestries lining the walls. Futuristic met French Baroque, that
was the way he'd thought of it. It exuded class, style, and most of all, lots and lots of money.
Someone like Eli dating its owner, even casually, didn't fit into Jarrett's impressions.
When they arrived, he paid the driver, allowing Eli the freedom to get out first. The driver smirked, and Jarrett
deliberately withheld the extra five he'd been ready to hand over as a tip.
Eli was practically bouncing. "Come on. There's a service bell in the back."
His already taut mood stretched even thinner at Eli's obvious excitement. It might have been better than the sulking if
Jarrett didn't know what had sparked this newfound enthusiasm. He walked stiffly, then held himself even straighter as
Eli rang for entry. The weight of the pack he'd brought with him added to the exhaustion already dragging him down,
but damned if he was going to let it show now.
The man who answered looked like an owner of a club like Project 69. His black hair was shot through with steel, his
irises an icy blue. Laugh lines bracketed his thin mouth, while tiny ones radiated from the corners of his eyes. Vestiges
of a life well lived. His dark jeans were fashionably worn, the gray pullover simple but obviously a silk cashmere. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]