Under the Skin (11 page)

Chapter 7

T
HOSE
three snatches of overheard conversation haunted Patrick for a week. He wanted to ask the other detectives for details, but he had no reason to need to know, no excuse for his questions. He kept telling himself to forget Alexei as he’d promised himself he would do after he found out about the other man’s “promotion.” None of the things he had done to move on had helped then, and they certainly didn’t help now. He knew Alexei’s number as well as he knew his own, had dialed it repeatedly in the past three days as he tried to reach his erstwhile lover, needing to hear his voice, to know he was alive at least.

He’d chastised himself each time for his weakness, but there was simply no denying it. He
needed
Alexei, the
vory
be damned. Sure this time would be no different than the others but determined to keep trying, Patrick reached for his phone and punched in the number that was salvation and damnation alike.

The warble of his cell phone drew Alexei’s contemplation from the book he’d been trying fitfully to read. He did not need to look at the display to know who was calling. He’d convinced Konstantin it was safest for them both if he dropped out of sight following the attack, to avoid any further retaliation from the Colombians. Fyodor had too many other concerns at the moment, with Konstantin trying to slip his leash and Alexei not around to rein him in, not that Fyodor would call Alexei himself in any case. And there was only one other person who would be calling. He tried to ignore the insistent summons as he had ignored it for the past three days, except at night, when he tortured himself by listening to the messages in the silence of his apartment, where he’d hidden to heal.

The detective was nothing if not persistent
, Alexei thought wryly. At first he had merely wondered what more Flaherty could have found to say following the finality of their last meeting, but the messages had grown increasingly urgent, the last admitting he’d heard that Alexei had been hurt. It was all the more reason to avoid any contact between them—anything that drew attention to Flaherty or their relationship more than ever was a risk neither of them could afford. Even as he reminded himself of the danger, Alexei’s hand was reaching for the phone, caressing its surface as if it could somehow transmit his touch to the man at the other end of the connection.
Ignoring Flaherty obviously wasn’t working
, he told himself as his wrist bent to flip the phone open. He’d have to find some other way to convince his former lover that things were over.

“Boczar,” he grated, hating himself for giving in to the need to hear Patrick’s voice again.

“Lyosha!” Patrick gasped, sagging against the headboard of his bed in relief, the nickname he never expected to use again slipping from his lips before he could reconsider the wisdom of it.
To hell with it
, he decided. He’d done some hard thinking over the past week, and he wasn’t going back on those decisions now. “Tell me you’re safe.”

“As you hear,” Alexei answered, swallowing back the thickness that tightened his throat at the diminutive no one but Patrick used. “Is best you not call this number again.”

“Then give me another it’s safer to use,” Patrick retorted. “Or even better, tell me where I can meet you. I need to see that you’re well.”

“To what purpose?” Ignoring the leap of his pulse at the thought of seeing Patrick again, Alexei reminded himself of all the reasons it would be a very bad idea. “I am still
vor
. You are still police. Forget anything else.”

“I can’t,” Patrick admitted softly, voice breaking slightly as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He had lived in dread for the past week, sure despite what he’d heard that Alexei was dead, lying in an alley somewhere, killed by comrades of the men who had attacked him in the first place. He knew it wouldn’t be simple. He knew it might still come to nothing, but he had to try. “All I can think about is that you nearly died and I….  Tell me where I can meet you. I don’t want to do this over the phone. Please, Lyosha.”

Cursing himself for twenty kinds of a fool, Alexei could not resist the raw emotion in Patrick’s voice. “There is small Ukraine restaurant,” he said heavily, giving the address.
One last time
, he told himself. He would let Flaherty see he was fine and then insist that they could not risk this again. He would find some way to convince the detective—as soon as he had convinced himself. “Wear dark suit, if you have one,” he suggested, knowing Flaherty would stand out if he wore his typical casual clothing. “Perhaps you will be taken as
vor
yourself.”

“I do,” Patrick said, hating the renewed pretense but knowing it would protect Alexei a little longer. It amused him that Alexei gave him more credit for being able to blend in than Cragin did, but then again, with Alexei, all Patrick had to create was the physical illusion, not the linguistic or cultural ones. “I’ll be there in less than an hour.”

A
LEXEI
had seated himself at a secluded table in the rear of the restaurant that offered a clear view of the door and anyone coming or going. He waved away the owner’s offer of food, forcing a smile when the man set a bottle of vodka on the table instead with the comment that he knew the
vory
would never refuse a drink. What was it the Americans called it?
Dutch courage
, he thought as he downed a shot, the familiar burn helping to settle his uneasiness but not enough to keep him from lifting his head every time someone crossed his line of vision.

Forty-five minutes after he hung up the phone, Patrick stood at the top of the steps leading down to the tiny basement restaurant near Chicago and Western, hoping he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life. A number of small shops, many of them with Ukrainian or Polish signs in their windows, filled the first floor of the building, with residential apartments making up the higher stories. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that he had nothing to lose since at the moment he had nothing, he descended into the quiet eatery, his eyes automatically scanning the room for threats. Alexei wanted him to pass for a
vor.
He figured in this instance a cop’s carefulness would pass for a
vor
’s wariness.

Spying his quarry sitting near the back of the restaurant, he crossed the intervening space confidently, as if he had every right in the world to be there and to be meeting with this particular man. He had no idea what explanation, if any, Alexei had given for their presence, but he didn’t want to do anything that might upset the illusion. “Boczar,” he acknowledged, taking a seat across from his lover, his eyes searching for any outward sign of the damage the older man had suffered.

“Flaherty,” Alexei replied shortly, as if he had not been drinking in the sight of his lover’s presence from the moment the other man had crossed the threshold.

Patrick had to stifle a cry when he saw the jagged slash marring Alexei’s temple, so near his eye. “What did they do to you?” he murmured before he could stop himself, his hands itching to reach out and touch, to search out any other new marks on the already decorated flesh. Not able to keep completely still, he reached for the bottle on the table with trembling hands and poured a shot into the glass in front of Alexei, imagining he could taste his lover on the rim as well as the liquor itself when he gulped down the icy liquid.

Alexei resisted the urge to pour himself another shot of vodka, knowing he needed all his wits about him. His brooding over Flaherty had let his attackers take him by surprise in the first place. He might not survive a second such lapse. “I am not so easy to kill,” he answered, keeping his hands from reaching across the table by lighting another cigarette.

“Is it safe to talk here?” Patrick asked, all the words he wanted to say crowding his heart and mind. “I owe you an apology at the very least.”

“You owe me nothing,” Alexei insisted, the memory of their last meeting still eating at his conscience. What the fuck did
Patrick
have to apologize for?

He could not do this, he admitted to himself. He could not sit here with only a table between them and act this lie any longer. “You have seen that I am well. Is not safe for you to be here. Go back to your world, forget you ever knew me.” He rose to his feet, stubbing out the cigarette and shaking his head when Patrick tried to reach for him. “The food is good here. You should eat before you leave.” He turned toward the door, pausing after a few steps to look back at the man sitting at the table, the man he would never forget. “
Do svidanja
, Patya.”

For the first time since he had walked into the restaurant, Patrick felt true hope spark within him. Alexei couldn’t call him Patya still and not care. No, it wasn’t safe, but it hadn’t ever been safe. Maybe he would be better off forgetting he ever knew Alexei, but it hadn’t felt like it this past week. He let the Russian leave, let him reach the top of the stairs before rising himself and dropping some bills on the table to pay for the bottle. He would follow Alexei home, wherever that was, and they would have this out once and for all.

To his surprise, when he reached the top of the steps, he saw his lover turning into another doorway in the center of the block of shops. Following quickly, he saw that it led into the apartment lobby. The door of the single elevator was closing as he entered. Glancing around, he located the emergency stairs and sprinted up them, listening for the elevator bell at each floor and hoping to be in time to see which apartment Alexei disappeared into.

Alexei sagged against the wall of the elevator, pushing back the lock of hair that fell over his forehead.
It will get easier
, he told himself. The pain from the attack was fading; this pain would ease as well. He just needed to give it time. He would have the rest of his life to forget.

The bell pinged and he straightened instinctively, his spine stiff, his face an emotionless mask as the doors opened and he strode down the narrow hall to his home.

Entering the corridor from the stairwell in time to see Alexei disappear into one of the apartments, Patrick ran to the door, catching it just before it closed. He pushed his way inside, determined not to let Alexei shut him out this time. “You can’t call me that and then expect me to let you walk out of my life,” he began as soon as the door closed behind them.

“I have no place in your life,” Alexei insisted, pushing Patrick back against the door, preventing him from entering any farther into his apartment, into his heart. “Just ass to fuck, remember?” he added cruelly, certain a reminder of the near-rape would be enough to drive the younger man away.

“You know that’s a lie,” Patrick retorted, arms reaching up to circle Alexei’s neck, his head tilted as he asked silently for a kiss. “It was a lie when I said it and it’s just as much of one now. How do I convince you of that?”

“You don’t.” Alexei’s back stiffened as he drew away, resisting the offer he ached to claim. “I have nothing to give you—nothing you need.”

You’re the only thing I need
, Patrick wanted to shout, but words obviously wouldn’t persuade his stubborn lover. He followed Alexei as he stepped back, crowding him, keeping their bodies touching, giving free rein to his desire. His hands tunneled into his lover’s hair, mussing it completely as he pulled their lips together, attacking the thin curves with all the passion and fear he’d been repressing.

Patrick’s tongue demanded entrance into Alexei’s mouth, and for a brief moment he allowed the rare dominance before pulling away. His lover’s hands fell to his shoulders to hold him in place, surprising a hiss of pain from Alexei as they dug into still healing wounds. “
Nyet
,” he insisted hoarsely, twisting free from the grasp. “No more.”

“Yes,” Patrick retorted demandingly. He pulled at Alexei’s jacket and tie, determined not to let his lover draw away. The weight of Alexei’s gun bumped against his thigh, but for once he was glad of its presence. His lover had survived because of it. “Where else are you hurt? Show me so I don’t make it worse.”

“This solves nothing,” Alexei protested, though the strength of his longing made the objection sound weak even to his own ears.

“Maybe not,” Patrick agreed as he peeled back the halves of Alexei’s shirt, wincing when he saw the bruises marring his lover’s shoulders. Pulling the fabric away more, he hissed sympathetically at the bandages wrapped around Alexei’s left clavicle, far too close to his heart for Patrick’s comfort. He didn’t ask if a bullet wound lay beneath the gauze. He didn’t have to. “The bastards! I hope you killed them. Slowly and painfully.” As he spoke, he pulled the shirt off, more gently now, his eyes searching for other injuries. “Very painfully,” he reiterated, seeing more bruising beneath the myriad tattoos.

“They are dead,” Alexei confessed bitterly, wincing as the shirt pulled away from barely healed skin. “More bodies, as you expected. And they are perhaps not the only ones who wish me killed.” He tried again to step back, to distance himself from the man who should be condemning what he had done, not praising it.