Wherever I can get in this time of night.” He glanced at the window. “Morning."
Griffin said, “I'll make a phone call and get you booked into the Best Western."
As gallant gestures went, it wasn't much, but tiredness and pain had lowered Peter's resistance and he was grateful for any sign of kindness. “Thanks."
Griffin brushed it off uncomfortably.
Peter blurted, “I remember, Mike."
Griffin looked guarded, wary. “Oh yeah? What is it you remember?"
Peter met his gaze straight on. “Not everything. But I know we started seeing each other after I reported the museum thefts. Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because we shouldn't have been seeing each other,” Griffin replied shortly. “I crossed more than a couple of professional lines when we started going out. You want the truth? I thought you were pretending you didn't remember about us for your own reasons."
"What reasons?"
Griffin raised a shoulder in a kind of who-knows-with-you gesture.
"Why did you...? Is that why you broke it off? Because it was a violation of professional ethics?"
Griffin's face tightened. “I thought you said you remembered?"
Peter admitted, “It's more that I finally managed to put two and two together. I don't remember...” He couldn't seem to look away from Mike's blue, blue eyes. Hot color flooded his face as he got out, “I've been having these dreams ... and I think they're about you."
"You think ?"
Peter said, “I know it sounds idiotic, but ... the doctors were right. I think I didn't remember because I didn't want to—because it was painful. I've been taking a prescription for anxiety and depression since December."
There was a funny break.
Mike's brows drew together. “You're on antidepressants?"
"I quit taking them after I got out of the hospital."
"Hell. You're not supposed to just stop taking that stuff, you know. If someone gets hold of that information ... your credibility could be further damaged."
"I know. Judging by the number of pills in the bottle, I think I was in the process of weaning myself off them. Anyway, the point is, a couple of friends told me that after we broke up, I was pretty depressed."
Mike was still eyeing him skeptically, but something had changed in his face. Some of the hardness had gone.
"And those dreams ... I kept telling myself they were of Cole. Even in my dream I kept telling myself they were of Cole, but I couldn't see my ... my lover's face. I guess my subconscious was trying to show me that it wasn't Cole I was with. Once I realized"—his color heightened, but he said it anyway—"the dreams are of you, yeah. Why did you break it off with me?"
Surprisingly, there was color in Mike's face too. He said, “If you're really not planning to stay here for what's left of the night—and I wouldn't, if I was you—let's go back to my place. We can talk without getting interrupted. I have to be at the station later in the morning, but you can stay there and sleep without worrying about anyone breaking in and trying to cap you again."
As invitations went ... Well, at least it was an invitation, and the best one Peter had had in a long time.
* * * *
Mike lived in a condo in Flintridge. On the outside it was just an innocuous, pink stucco, two-story building, and Peter was too tired to pay much attention as he followed Mike upstairs.
He remembered the inside, though—or at least it felt familiar. But maybe because it was pretty much a generic bachelor pad: comfortable furniture, plasma TV, and an impressive stereo system. There was a large tank of tropical fish against one wall and a couple of nice oils of the ocean on the other.
"You want a beer?"
Peter shook his head, watching without interest as Mike disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared a few moments later and sat on the other end of the sofa. He took a long swallow of beer from the bottle and sighed appreciatively. “Man, it's good to be home."
Yes. It must be nice. Peter didn't think he would know that
Griffin said, “I'll make a phone call and get you booked into the Best Western."
As gallant gestures went, it wasn't much, but tiredness and pain had lowered Peter's resistance and he was grateful for any sign of kindness. “Thanks."
Griffin brushed it off uncomfortably.
Peter blurted, “I remember, Mike."
Griffin looked guarded, wary. “Oh yeah? What is it you remember?"
Peter met his gaze straight on. “Not everything. But I know we started seeing each other after I reported the museum thefts. Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because we shouldn't have been seeing each other,” Griffin replied shortly. “I crossed more than a couple of professional lines when we started going out. You want the truth? I thought you were pretending you didn't remember about us for your own reasons."
"What reasons?"
Griffin raised a shoulder in a kind of who-knows-with-you gesture.
"Why did you...? Is that why you broke it off? Because it was a violation of professional ethics?"
Griffin's face tightened. “I thought you said you remembered?"
Peter admitted, “It's more that I finally managed to put two and two together. I don't remember...” He couldn't seem to look away from Mike's blue, blue eyes. Hot color flooded his face as he got out, “I've been having these dreams ... and I think they're about you."
"You think ?"
Peter said, “I know it sounds idiotic, but ... the doctors were right. I think I didn't remember because I didn't want to—because it was painful. I've been taking a prescription for anxiety and depression since December."
There was a funny break.
Mike's brows drew together. “You're on antidepressants?"
"I quit taking them after I got out of the hospital."
"Hell. You're not supposed to just stop taking that stuff, you know. If someone gets hold of that information ... your credibility could be further damaged."
"I know. Judging by the number of pills in the bottle, I think I was in the process of weaning myself off them. Anyway, the point is, a couple of friends told me that after we broke up, I was pretty depressed."
Mike was still eyeing him skeptically, but something had changed in his face. Some of the hardness had gone.
"And those dreams ... I kept telling myself they were of Cole. Even in my dream I kept telling myself they were of Cole, but I couldn't see my ... my lover's face. I guess my subconscious was trying to show me that it wasn't Cole I was with. Once I realized"—his color heightened, but he said it anyway—"the dreams are of you, yeah. Why did you break it off with me?"
Surprisingly, there was color in Mike's face too. He said, “If you're really not planning to stay here for what's left of the night—and I wouldn't, if I was you—let's go back to my place. We can talk without getting interrupted. I have to be at the station later in the morning, but you can stay there and sleep without worrying about anyone breaking in and trying to cap you again."
As invitations went ... Well, at least it was an invitation, and the best one Peter had had in a long time.
* * * *
Mike lived in a condo in Flintridge. On the outside it was just an innocuous, pink stucco, two-story building, and Peter was too tired to pay much attention as he followed Mike upstairs.
He remembered the inside, though—or at least it felt familiar. But maybe because it was pretty much a generic bachelor pad: comfortable furniture, plasma TV, and an impressive stereo system. There was a large tank of tropical fish against one wall and a couple of nice oils of the ocean on the other.
"You want a beer?"
Peter shook his head, watching without interest as Mike disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared a few moments later and sat on the other end of the sofa. He took a long swallow of beer from the bottle and sighed appreciatively. “Man, it's good to be home."
Yes. It must be nice. Peter didn't think he would know that
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