Snowball in Hell - lanyon Josh (читать книги без TXT) 📗
«She says she doesn't know how the money got there,» Matt added.
«Does the money match the ransom money serial numbers?»
«They're checking on that now.» And then Matt strolled over to the bed, sat down and stretched out beside Nathan. He yawned widely. «Since we're stuck…»
Nathan shook his head, rose, and went to prop a chair beneath the room door.
Matt was already sleeping by the time he got back to the bed.
They napped for a couple of long, peaceful hours, and when they woke they had turkey sandwiches and drinks in the bar with the other guests. They made small talk, sang a few carols when everyone had finally had enough to drink, and then at last it was late enough to retire upstairs, lock the door and turn down the lights. They crawled in between the sheets as though they had been cuddling up together every night for years. For a time they just lay there, breathing quietly, acquainting themselves.
Matt's fingertips brushed the scars on Nathan's side where the bullets had hit him, and Nathan's skin twitched a little. It was Matt's gentleness that he felt in his nerves and bones and blood, although it was nice to be touched, caressed.
«How the hell did you survive this?»
«Just unlucky, I guess.»
He was kidding-he thought he was-but Matt raised his head. Nathan couldn't read his expression in the darkness, but he heard his tone. «There are about a hundred thousand guys who'd have given anything to trade places with you.»
Doyle grimaced. «I know.»
But Matt couldn't let it go. «You know how rare it is to survive getting hit by machine gun fire?»
«I know.»
«Seems to me like that kind of-«
«I know,» Nathan said again, and this time he couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice.
When, at last, they began to fuck it was very good and Nathan bit back his desire to ask for more-this was all new for Matt and Nathan didn't want to shock him or scare him off. It would be easy to do. It was clear to him that Matt had more enthusiasm than experience. It didn't matter. He was willing to trade a lot for the pleasure of sleeping in Matt's arms again, and when they had finished, pleasure echoing through him like the last vibrating note of a choir of angels, he turned to Matt and folded close.
Matt's lips pressed against his forehead; Nathan could feel he was smiling.
He'd never slept as well as he had in the past two nights.
On Sunday morning they were driven down to Indian Falls in the hotel station wagon, and they caught the first available train back to Los Angeles. There was no chance for further intimate discussion, so they talked trivialities, and somehow those seemed newly significant.
As the mountains flattened out, and the pine trees gave way to cactus and desert and then houses and gardens, Nathan began to dread the swift approach of Los Angeles.
He could feel Mathew's withdrawal, although each time their eyes met, Mathew smiled fleetingly, and the knowledge of what they had shared was in his eyes.
In Union Station, things happened very quickly, and they were out front on the pavement while the never-ending flood of passengers and friends and family parted around them.
Nathan said, «Can I drop you somewhere?»
«There's a car coming for me,» Matt said.
Nathan nodded. He knew he shouldn't ask, already knew what the answer had to be, but he asked anyway. «Will I see you again?»
Matt said brusquely, «I'm not leaving town.»
And that pretty much answered Nathan's question. He nodded, turning away, and Matt caught his arm. He immediately let him go, and said quietly, painfully, «It's not that I don't-I'm a cop, Nathan. It's … too dangerous.»
Nathan nodded. Smiled suddenly. «I know. Nice to have had a taste of … what it could be like. That's more than I ever thought I'd have.»
Matt's face twisted as though Nathan had said something terrible, and Nathan wanted to reach out and reassure him that he meant it, meant every word. That he was truly grateful for these few hours, that it was the best Christmas ever. He had no regrets at all, despite the fact that he wished he hadn't woken up this morning, that perfect happiness would have been to have gone to sleep in Matt's arms and
never opened his eyes again. But of course he couldn't say that, and he couldn't reach out. He could never touch Matt again.
Instead he said softly, «Take care of yourself, Mathew.»
Chapter Eight
«How'd you make out?» Jonesy asked, as Matt climbed into the car.
Matt grunted. In his mind's eye he was watching Nathan's long-legged stride across the Union Station parking lot, hat dipped at a rakish angle, apparently not a care in the world. Nathan was fine-so why was Matt's gut knotting in anxiety?
«How's Mr. Doyle?»
«Good as new,» Matt replied. «He just needed a couple hours sleep.»
«Didn't do you any harm either,» Jonesy said.
«Who are you, my mother?» But Matt grinned. Jonesy had known him since he was in short pants. Then the flicker of curiosity in the older man's eyes caught his attention. «What?»
Jonesy shook his head. «Were you able to get anything out of him?»
«He's not our man.»
«No? He's sure as hell hiding something.»
«Everybody's hiding something, Jonesy. «Even you, I guess.»
Jonesy chuckled. «Mebbe so, mebbe so.»
«Still no sign of the Jarvis woman?»
«Near as anyone can tell she stepped onto that train and vanished into thin air.»
«Swell,» Matt said gloomily. «You're watching her place and the Las Palmas Club?»
«Yep, and we're watching Sid Szabo's apartment, but I don't think she'd be dumb enough to go back there.» Jonesy turned south on Alameda, pausing for two jaywalking ladies laden with Christmas parcels. He gave a low whistle, and Matt shook off his preoccupation long enough to notice the women.
Nice looking women. He realized with something like shock that he was missing Nathan-it was like a pain you couldn't quite put a name to. Maybe it wasn't so strange after spending almost forty-eight hours in each other's company, but he missed the sound of Nathan's voice, and his quiet laugh. He even missed the smell of him.
He shook off the feeling, and said crisply, «Tell me about the dough you found at Claire Arlen's.»
Jonesy put the car in motion. «The five hundred dollars she claims she didn't know anything about?» He smiled. «Well, sorry to disappoint you, Loot, but that money didn't match up with the serial numbers on the ransom money.»
«So where'd the money come from? Old man Arlen cut the kid off, and I didn't get the feeling Arlen's wife was the thrifty kind.»
«She stuck to her story. Said she didn't know anything about the money. Had no idea how it got in her handbag.»
Matt's eyes rested on the Christmas garland stretched across the street. Funny how bedraggled Christmas decorations looked the day after Christmas. «Let's bring Carl Winters in again,» he said. «In fact, bring Claire in too. Let's have a brother and sister act.»
Nathan went home to his apartment, collected the gift he'd bought weeks ago for his mother, and headed over to Glendale and the house he'd grown up in.
His mother must have had a lonely Christmas on her own, although he didn't see how that would be possible what with her church dinners and all her church friends and her church activities, but she hugged him as though she'd never expected to see him again, and there were tears in her eyes when she finally let him go.
There were more tears when she opened his gift: a fuzzy pink cardigan. He felt foolish at the impulse that had prompted him to buy it. She didn't wear fuzzy things or even pink.
«Oh, Ma,» he said uncomfortably. She was not an emotional woman and this sudden display of sentiment made him uncomfortable.
