I went back to my particulates, but concentrating was proving even more difficult, which really wasn’t a good thing, given how distracted I’d already been. But now in addition to worrying about my relationship with Elliot, I was also worried about someone wanting to kill Elliot. Possibly.
I didn’t think Smith would appreciate it if I started bothering him again, but I wanted to know more about the case. Aboutwhat had happened last winter. And I didn’t want to ask Elliot, in case he wasn’t okay talking about it.
It took me way too long to remember that I was at least somewhat friends with someone else who knew every detail of that case like the back of his hand.
I called Hart.
“What did the stripey dumbass do this time?” was how he answered his phone.
“Nothing!” I answered. “Or, rather, nothing bad.” I took a deep, shaky breath, steeling my nerves.
“What’s going on, Mays?” Hart asked sharply, and I realized that I probably hadn’t been as quiet as I’d thought. Elves have really good hearing, too. Maybe not as good as mine or Elliot’s, but a far sight better than a human’s.
“Do you know about the dog?” I asked him.
“What fucking dog?” His voice was tight.
Shit. I was about to unintentionally start a fight between Hart and Elliot, and I didn’t want to do that. But I wanted to know enough to hopefully help keep Elliot safe—and Hart might have some ideas about how to do that.
So I told him about the badger and the dog.
And then waited for Hart to work his way through an extremely impressive blue streak of curses that contained several new ones I’d never heard before. My personal favorite wasabsolute turnip-brained shitbird, directed at Elliot for not telling Hart what was going on, not allowing Smith to station uniforms at his house, and trying to stay in the house by himself.
“I got him to agree to come over to my place tonight,” I said at the end of the tirade.
“Is he bringing clothes and a toothbrush?” Hart wanted to know.
“I—don’t know?”
“Well, fucking tell him he’d better.” A pause. “Or I fucking will, and that is going to make your little date night much more awkward.”
“I’m going to tell him I told you,” I said. I wasn’t going to start off this relationship by lying, since it was only about seventy-seven hours old.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t happy about it, but I was sure.
“Your funeral.”
He had a good point. Elliot was not going to be happy with me for telling Hart. But that was my problem. I wasn’t going to lie to him.
“Donate to Hands and Paws in lieu of flowers,” I told him.
“Jesus, Mays. You’ve got a set of brass balls, you know that? Or a hole in the fucking head. One of the two.”
“Would you lie to Taavi about something like that?” I asked him pointedly.
He was quiet for a moment. “Fuck. No. No, I wouldn’t.” He let out a sigh. “Now I can’t even be mad about it, becausehe’s going to be mad at you because he thinksI’m going to be mad athim, so I can’t be, because thenhecan’t be.”
I blinked, not entirely certain how to parse that sentence. “Um.”
“Fuck. Don’t worry about it. Tell him, don’t tell him.” He sighed. “But you didn’t call just to tell me all that shit, did you?”
“I found DNA on the dog,” I said. “And it matched the brother-in-law of one of Gregory Crane’s killers.”
“What?!” More swearing. “And he still fucking wants to stay by himself in that fucking house?”
“He doesn’t know that part yet.” Unless Smith had told him. “Unless Smith told him, but I don’t think he was planning on it.”
