The Dark Horse - lanyon Josh (книги онлайн полные TXT) 📗

«I don't care what they think now!» His face got redder, his eyes were too bright. He glanced at Dan and seemed to recollect himself. «Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. You're my hero.» «You're … welcome.»

He suddenly reached down and hugged me awkwardly, meaty arms clutching fiercely. I patted his back. Sam let me go and walked quickly back to his table, which was now staring our way and whispering. I glanced at Dan and was startled at his grim expression. «What's wrong?» «Nothing.»

I couldn't understand his tension. He couldn't be jealous. Did he view Sam as a potential threat? According to him there was no real threat – not anymore. «He's just a kid,» I said.

«I know. It's cool.» He gave me a quick smile that didn't quite soften the blue steel of his eyes.

The waitress brought our meals, sea bass for Dan and swordfish for me. We drank more wine. Sam Bowers and his family left, Sam glancing back at me several times – which did not go unnoticed by Dan. «You can't think that kid's a threat.»

«I don't.» He said, in answer to my obvious puzzlement, «It's just … you're very … accessible. Even after what you've been through this last year, you're not …»

He didn't finish it, and I realized he didn't want to make me self-conscious. Or afraid. He said instead, «You were great with him. Patient, kind. You're good with everyone. No star tripping with you; that's one of the things I noticed right off the bat.» «I'm not exactly A-List.»

«The biggest assholes in this town are not the A-Listers.» He smiled. «You'd be the same regardless of the roles or the money. You don't take it seriously.» That troubled me. «I take it seriously.»

«I don't mean the work. You're a professional. You don't take the celebrity thing seriously.»

«Oh. Right.» That was true. I wasn't that crazy about being a «celebrity.» I liked my privacy.

The waitress arrived with a dessert tray. Dan went for coffee. I chose cafe glace.

Dipping my spoon into the coffee-flavored ice cream, I asked, «What did you mean Friday night when you said you had been through therapy?»

Dan's eyes followed my tongue as I licked the whipped cream from the spoon. «I had counseling after I made the decision to be open about my sexual orientation on the job. Law enforcement is still a conservative and fairly homophobic profession; it wasn't an easy decision.» «What made you decide to come out?»

«It wasn't that I wasn't out, but I was very careful to keep the boundaries distinct between my personal and professional life.» That sounded uncomfortably familiar. «Don't ask, don't tell?»

«Right. Which to a degree I still believe in. I don't feel like it's anyone's business who I sleep with.» He sighed. «And … law enforcement is, in general, kind of a macho gig. We've

got more than our share of assholes on the force, so I guess I was glad to not have to take a stand. But I had a situation come up: a homicide suspect recognized me from a gay bar and tried to … let's call it 'negotiate' with me.» «You could have been undercover,» I pointed out.

He smiled faintly. «I could have, but I was a regular at that bar, and we both knew it. I realized I had to come clean to my superiors – had to put it all out on the table.»

I wondered what I'd have chosen in that same situation. «Were you tempted to go along with the blackmail?»

«No.» He met my eyes levelly. «I knew once I started down that slope there would be no stopping. I wasn't about to endanger a job I love. I was never ashamed of being gay.» «And what happened after you came out?»

«A few guys were assholes and a few guys were stand up, but mostly nobody really gave a damn. Except the brass. They saw an opportunity to reverse some of the bad press and capitalize on how diverse and sensitive the new LAPD was.» «Did the counseling help?»

«It did.» His gaze was curious. «You do all those public service announcements advising teens to seek counseling. You don't have faith in the process yourself?»

«It's not that. If I had been able to talk to someone when I was sixteen … things might have gone differently. Now I don't need someone helping me understand what I'm afraid of.» I was no longer talking about being gay, and we both knew it. I added, «And I don't think my fears are unreasonable.» He was smart enough to leave it at that.

When we got back to the house I turned on the phonograph and put on the 1954 recording of Louis Armstrong playing W.C. Handy. I carried a stack of prospective screenplays Steve had sent over earlier in the week onto the deck and settled into the lounge

chair, smearing suntan oil over my shoulders while the music wafted out through the open sliding door.

It was cooler today, the sun slipping in and out of clouds; the salty wind off the water had a nip to it. I wiped my hands together and leaned back in the chair, reaching for the first screenplay: Favored to Place. My eyes focused on the brown rag hooked to the deck railing. Not a rag. More like … a large toupee or something … furry. I dropped the script from nerveless fingers. The pages fluttered in the breeze.

Far overhead I could a seagull crying. What a weird sound that was. Like mewing. Like a cat. Like a fluffy brown cat. Or a fluffy brown dog.

I stood up fast, but my foot hooked and I tipped the lounge chair over, sprawling on the deck. I felt like I'd had the wind knocked out of me. «Dan,» I yelled breathlessly. «Dan! Dan!»

In the distance I could hear a jaunty trumpet sashaying into the opening notes of «Loveless Love.»

Along with the sudden lack of oxygen, I couldn't seem to get my footing. I kicked away the cushions and chair – unable to tear my eyes away from the thing nailed to the deck railing. Nailed by its tail … The screen door opened and Dan stepped out. «What the hell –?»

I scrambled to my knees. «It's the dog,» I gasped. «Mrs. Wiggly's dog.» I pointed, hand shaking. The consternation on Dan's face changed to something else. Something dangerous. «Get up,» he said. He reached down and hauled me to my feet. «Inside.»

He thrust me through the half open door, stepped in behind me and locked it. Guiding me by the arm, he edged me back a few steps. «Stay away from the door, stay away from the window.»

«He k-killed it,» I chattered. «While we were at brunch. He's watching the house. Why would he do that? That stupid little dog. How c-could he know – But I didn't want that!»

Dan brushed past, lifted a gun the size of a small cannon out of the clutter on the middle bookshelf, and I realized in a distant sort of way that although he had seemed to dismiss my fears he was, in fact, on high alert.

Moving past me, he unlatched the door. «Don't open for anyone but me. Understand?» I stared at him. «Sean,» he said sharply. «Do you understand what I'm saying?» I sucked in a quavery breath. «I understand.» «I'll be right back. Lock the door behind me.»

He stepped out. Gestured to the lock. I moved to the door and fumbled it locked. He motioned to me again, and I backed out of sight of the door.

Hearing his footsteps on the deck, I went to the window and, staying to the side, watched him cross the deck fast and jump down to the sand below. He disappeared from sight.

Chapter Five

The scrape of a key in the lock brought me to my feet. Dan stepped inside, caught sight of me and stuck the gun in his back waistband, walking across to me. «He's long gone.» «It's Hammond,» I said. «I know it.»

«Shhh.» He took me in his arms. «Sean.» He held me tightly; I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to. I didn't want to.

«He's alive. I know it.» I spoke into his chest, the words vibrating against the strong thud of his heart. «It's not Hammond.» He stroked my back calmingly. «This isn't Hammond's MO.» I raised my head. Met his eyes. «It has to be.»

«Sean, over a dozen witnesses confirm that he went into the aqueduct. He couldn't have survived that crash. It's not possible.» «Then where's the body? Why hasn't the body shown up yet?»