Finding Grace by Rhea Rhodan Page A

now that I think about it, Thorne does always wear those things,” Dagger said. “Except that
day in jail. Must not have had time to put them on before they
nabbed him.”
    “Jail?” Hawks frowned.
    Markham set his beer down. “Yeah, remember? Farley
told us about it. Thorne’s vision. That’s why you hired him, right,
Paul?”
    Paul was frowning now. “Hell no. Thorne tipped us
off on that kidnapping, yes, but…” He shook his head and tilted it
back to drain the last of his beer. “Thorne was hired for Thorne’s
exceptional computer and electronic skills, which my friend Luke at
SPD learned about after he picked Thorne up for questioning.”
    “So what was Thorne busted for, then, exactly? You
never did tell us,” Farley pushed.
    “Decked the cop who picked him up. Pretty good too.”
He didn’t know why he’d said it instead of Paul, except that Paul
hadn’t exactly being forthcoming about Thorne, and Dagger felt
obligated to defend the kid.
    “So not a girl, then. Damn.” Farley sighed.
    Mills pushed back his chair. “I’m with Paul. I don’t
buy this vision shit, neither. That damn faggot must have been
connected to the kidnappin’ somehow. Bet he had somethin’ to do
with whatever really happened over there to Hawks and Markham
too.”
    “What do you know, Mills? You weren’t there either
time. Me, I’m a believer.” Dagger finished his beer and motioned to
the bartender for another.
    Paul would never believe it. Everything was black
and white to his friend. Dagger had learned about the gray on his
first undercover mission. Over time, he’d learned to accept more
things he couldn’t explain.
    Mills broke into his thoughts. “You wanna believe in
that shit, you go right ahead. Thorne ain’t got no respect for
authority, that’s for sure. And what about the little faggot’s
anti-American attitude?”
    He felt Paul watching him, but his partner continued
to be anything but helpful.
    Dagger sipped his beer and told them, in as few
words as possible, about Jefferson and what he’d learned at Tron’s
that night.
    Mills spat out. “Well then, sounds to me like that
Jefferson must be another fag. Whole bunch of ’em is fags. It’s
contagious, I tell you.”
    “What the fuck is wrong with you, Mills? If you’re
really that goddamn slow, I’ll spell it out for you nice and clear.
Thorne’s all right. One of the team. So back the fuck off already.”
Dagger knew he shouldn’t be getting so worked up, but the
conversation was poking him somewhere he didn’t want to look.
    “What’s the matter, Dagger, you thinkin’ about
switchin’ sides on us?” Mills asked it in a lilting voice, holding
a limp wrist in the air.
    Dagger pushed his chair back slowly and heard the
anger in his voice, even if he kept it low. “If there’s anyone here
who really wants to go there with me, we can step outside
right now.”
    The whole place got real quiet.
    The team’s conversation finally moved on to other
topics, but Dagger was thinking about Thorne sitting alone in that
tiny apartment. Of the two of them, who was more alone right now:
Thorne or himself? The more he thought about Thorne, the more he
drank. The food he’d eaten in the parking lot before he’d come in
wasn’t sitting as well as it usually did. Maybe he should have just
stuck with the Bo Sate.
    Paul insisted on driving him home, said he wanted to
talk to him about something, but Dagger figured it was because his
friend thought he’d had too much to drink. Maybe he had, because
when Paul asked how Thorne was doing, Dagger heard something in his
voice that made him willing to confide, even though Paul hadn’t
done the same.
    So he told Paul what Thorne had said about not going
to a bar since his twenty-first birthday because it hadn’t ended
well. Dagger added that, if he had to guess, he’d have said the kid
must have gotten beat up pretty bad.
    He hadn’t had so much to drink that he didn’t notice
the funny, almost sick, look