Patient Darkness: Brooding City Series Book 2 (10 page)

“What did you have to do?”

“You nonconformist, you.” Brennan could hear the grin in Sam’s voice. “Where are you now? Back at your place?”

“On my way there now. Did you find out any more about The Tap?”

“I figured the date took more immediate precedence.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t worry, partner, I work quickly. I’ll have something for you by the time you return from dinner. Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a scout,” Brennan reminded him.

“As far as you know.”

“Nor do you have honor.”

“Now that’s just mean. Wear something nice tonight, and when the server comes to take your drinks, order a Cabernet Sauvignon or some sort of red blend.”

“Isn’t this all a bit much for a first date? I would have gone for something simpler.”

“Brennan,” he said sharply. “It’s not about what you want. Cater to
her
interests. Sheesh, a few years off the dating scene and you’ve gone completely senile. All right, just
show up
and I’ll take care of the rest.”

He considered saying a few choice words to his friend, but he was about to get on the shuttle, and he still needed to send the dinner details to Clara. “Fine,” Brennan said. “And…thanks. In the meantime, find out everything you can about The Tap. It’s our only lead at the moment.”

There was a pause before Sam spoke. “Have you brought Noel in on it?”

“You know I can’t. She has been keeping me on ice for this entire case, and it isn’t helping anyone.” He overrode Sam as he began to protest. “I just spoke with her priest, Father Dylan. He has agreed to talk to her about it, all right? But we have just over a day left and I can’t afford to spend any more time on the bench.”

“I don’t like the idea of keeping this from her,” Sam said. “It could be even worse for you if she finds out you kept her in the dark.”

Despite the cool air, Brennan suddenly felt heat flush his face. His voice was hoarse as he thought back to their night of playing pool. When Sam had left him, he had lied about going to meet up with Bishop. “I think we all have our secrets to keep,” Brennan said. He was being purposefully cryptic, and he hoped Sam understood enough to let the issue rest for now.

Another pause. “I think we should talk about what happened at the hospital,” Sam said eventually, his voice equally subdued. “You still haven’t told me a lot of things, actually, and I feel I have a right to know.”

Dread sunk its claws into Brennan’s back, and he stood stiffly as he boarded the shuttle that would take him home. He had never told Sam about his past as a Sleeper. He had never told
anyone
about his particular power, the one not even other Sleepers possessed. The entire rescue operation three months ago had hinged upon him implicitly trusting that Greg could find Bishop by using one of the patches laced with hallucinogenic Chamalla. If he revealed who he was and what he could really do, Brennan had no clue how Sam would react. He was his best friend, but even the strongest of friendships had their limits.

“I’m on the shuttle now,” he said, his voice low. “We can talk about this after we catch our serial killer.”

He heard Sam sigh heavily. “Right. I’ll find The Tap and send you an email tonight.” Some of the familiar joviality crept back into his voice. “Good luck on your date tonight, lady killer.”

ф ф ф

“It really shouldn’t
be this hard of a decision.” Greg was looking on in amusement as Brennan held up two different ties in front of the mirror. “The red one,” Greg said wearily, drawing out the syllables as if Brennan were hard of hearing—or particularly slow.

“Red?” Brennan held it up again, unconvinced. “Isn’t that too aggressive of a color?”

“Come on, the blue doesn’t even go well with your suit—which, by the way, is probably too dressy for a first date.”

Brennan shrugged and looped the red tie around his popped-up collar. “If I show up in a golf shirt and jeans, I won’t even be allowed into The Regent.”

Greg let out a low whistle. “That place is a little outside of your price range.”

“Said the unemployed high school graduate.”

“Touché.”

Brennan pulled on the tail of the tie, tightening it until it formed a knot over the hollow of his neck. It hung just left of center, and Brennan fiddled with it for a few seconds before releasing a sigh of resignation. He started the process over again. “It’s all about making a good first impression,” he said. “The restaurant staff will be expecting me to dress a certain way.
Clara
will, too.”

“Are we addressing her on a first name basis already?”

“
We
aren’t doing anything. I’m going on a date thanks to you—”

“You’re welcome.”

“—And you will be scouring the Internet for jobs. I don’t care if it takes all night. I want you to have something lined up by tomorrow, even if that just means walking into the corner store and asking for an application.”

Greg wiped a hand over his face, causing Brennan to smile faintly. It was a ghost of the very same gesture Brennan made when he was frustrated. “Look, Uncle Arty, I wasn’t totally acting in good faith when I made that deal. I mean, I never actually expected you to go on a date with this woman. Or any woman anytime soon, in fact.”

Brennan paused in his tie adjustment. His eyes, gazing into the mirror, fell to the ring that still encircled his finger. A long minute passed before he spoke, and his voice broke slightly as he did. “It was a surprise for me as well,” he said. “Your aunt was the love of my life, and I don’t think anybody can replace her in my heart. But you and Sam are right; I can’t keep living in the past.”

He was unsure of when it had started, but Brennan found himself slowly turning his wedding ring with his free hand. The silk tie hung in a loose noose around his neck. He felt Greg staring at him from behind, and he quickly dropped his hands. “Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t talked about Mara with many people ever since her death.”

“It’s fine,” Greg said compassionately. “I didn’t mean to bring it up—”

“You didn’t, I’m just being—”

“—It was stupid of me to—”

“—You don’t want to hear about any of that.”

The two of them broke off simultaneously and stared at each other. After a moment, Greg let out a nervous chuckle. “Can we go back to deciding the color of your tie?” he asked.

Brennan smiled wanly. “I’ll keep the red. Thanks.”

A long exhale escaped Greg’s lips. “So you’re going to order the steak and lobster? With an extra bottle of champagne?”

“I’m looking to relax for once,” Brennan said. “Not take out a mortgage just to pay for dinner.”

“Can you get a mortgage on a rented apartment?”

“Fair point.”

“On that note, we should really consider getting a bigger place.” Greg blushed as Brennan turned to affix him with raised eyes. He rubbed self-consciously at the bandage that covered his patch burn. “Sleeping on your pullout couch is nice and all, and I really appreciate you taking me in after…well,
after
. But maybe we could get one of those new Scottages they’re building.”

“Scottages?”

“The guy who is building them is named Scott. Last name, probably. And I’m assuming they look like cottages.”

“Huh. Where are they being built?”

Greg shrugged. “Somewhere outside the city.”

“Outside the city? You do know that I’m a cop, right? I work right across the street,” Brennan said, stressing the last few words.

“Oh. Well if you need someone to housesit for you, I’m your man. I’ll even give you a discount, since you’re family.”

“So you want me to pay for the rent of a luxury cottage in the picturesque countryside
and
pay you to live there in my stead?” He shook his head. “There must be some lingering toxins from the patch that are addling your brain.”

“Hey,” Greg protested. “When my housesitting business takes off, just remember that you could have been in on the ground floor.”

Satisfied with the knot of his tie, Brennan walked over toward the couch. “What do you think?”

“You’re trying too hard,” Greg stated simply. “But I’m sure she will appreciate the gesture. Shouldn’t you be leaving soon?”

Brennan checked his phone. He had a scant half hour to meet Clara at The Regent, and he wanted to be early so that she would not be waiting when she arrived. “Yeah, I need to go. Do you remember what you need to do tonight?”

“Search for a job and make myself scarce sometime around ten o’clock,” Greg recited without enthusiasm.

“Make yourself scarce? Why would you do that?”

“Look, Uncle Arty, I know not many people would consider you to be fun or charming. I mean,
really
few people.”

“Hey!”

Greg went on undeterred. “Have you considered that this night might not end when the bill is paid? That this woman—Clara—might for whatever reason want to come back to your place?”

Brennan stood still and stared uncomprehendingly at his nephew. After a moment, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “I didn’t—” He caught himself starting a lie designed to deceive even himself. “Actually, Sam suggested something along those lines.”

“At least someone is looking at this date with some sense. There’s nothing less sexy than bringing a date home to your nephew—witty and handsome as he is—passed out on the sofa.” Greg leaned back onto the armrest with an enormous grin on his face.

Brennan felt immensely uncomfortable discussing sex with his nephew, especially with regards to his own potential plans for the evening. “I’m leaving now,” he said abruptly. He grabbed his jacket off the back of a tall chair near the island bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Give some thought to that Scottage plan,” Greg reminded him with a wink.

“We’ll see,” Brennan called back, closing the door firmly behind him. He practically glided down the stairs to the ground floor, spurred on by an internal clock that warned him of the impending arrival deadline.

Cold air met him as he pushed open the door to the street. Living in midtown, he was relatively close to all of the high-end restaurants Odols had to offer, and The Regent was one of the classiest. It was located a half dozen city blocks away from his apartment, though, and hailing a taxi at this hour would be slower than going on foot.

Brennan jogged at a brisk pace, and the air was cool enough that sweat was prevented from beading along his forehead. It felt good to be moving at this speed after months—
years
—of mostly walking and sitting. For the second time this week, he was thankful for the new workout regime that was whipping his body into better shape than it had seen in years. Still, the sudden exertion was forcing his breath to come with some difficulty, and his lungs worked overtime to provide oxygen to his legs.

He arrived in front of The Regent with two minutes to spare.

The Regent was one of the ritziest places in Odols. The ground floor was a fine cuisine restaurant, and their kitchen boasted some of the most renowned chefs in the country. Towering over the restaurant was the rest of The Regent—a soaring luxury hotel that cast shadows on every building surrounding it. A monolithic structure of glass and steel, it offered its guests the best view of Odols—provided they could afford the exorbitant nightly costs of staying.

A reed-thin man in a midnight blue restaurant uniform stepped forward, presumably to turn away the strange, panting man who had suddenly appeared in their valet lane. Brennan held up a hand to stall him, allowing himself to catch a few more breaths. His eyes passed over the other guests entering the restaurant, scanning their faces for any familiar features.

The uniformed attendant hovered nearby; a small metal clip on his breast pocket read
Terry
. Brennan felt Terry’s eyes pass over his suit and tie, obviously taking in the fact that he was not a vagabond here to cause trouble. “Is everything quite all right, sir?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m looking for someone, though. You may have seen her? Tall, brunette, about the same age as me?”

Terry cleared his throat and peered purposefully around Brennan’s shoulder.

“Arthur?”

He turned to find the source of the mature, feminine voice. The profile photo he had seen online did not do her justice. Clara Thompson was taller than average, with the top of her head just barely reaching Brennan’s nose. Her leaf green eyes were rimmed with laugh lines, and the soft curve of her smile seemed comfortable on her lips. Soft highlights on either side framed her face. Beneath her long white trench coat, she wore a knee-length dress whose color approached the blackest of purples. It shimmered under the evening lights of the city. Her eyes were wide with curiosity.

“Arthur Brennan?” she repeated, taking a step closer to him.

He smiled warmly and willed the butterflies in his stomach to disappear. “Yes, hi. Clara?” He bridged the distance between them.

Her lips parted to show a set of gleaming white teeth. The creases around her eyes found their familiar places. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” she said. Clara moved in and they exchanged a quick hug. Brennan could smell a light, flowery scent that wafted gently from her silken hair.