Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,116

year before, Theo had visited an inmate at the Dore County Correctional Center with Auggie. Before coming into the building, as they’d sat in the Malibu, Theo had kissed Auggie. He’d done it for a lot of reasons: because he wanted to, because he’d been thinking about it for months, but mostly to make a point. Whatever the point had been, Theo had forgotten it, but he remembered the kiss. Remembered the softness of that expressive mouth under his own lips. Remembered Auggie’s owlish eyes after.

Thompson was wide-hipped and generously built, her hair in beaded braids. In her suit, she looked so fresh she might have just snagged her diploma from the dean and hustled off to take her first case. She waited while Theo collected his belongings.

“Who hired you?”

“Sorry. Client confidentiality.”

“It wasn’t my parents,” Theo said. “And it wasn’t my brothers. So who was it?”

“Mr. Stratford, I’ve got other things to do. I want to get you home, talk about options, and move on.”

“If it was Auggie, you can tell me. I won’t let him know.”

She put her hands on her hips. She looked like she was three seconds away from tapping her foot.

“Fine,” Theo said as he pulled on his coat. “I’ll figure it out.”

On the drive back, she said, “The Reese family isn’t pressing charges for the breaking and entering or the attempted burglary.”

“Nice of them, since I wasn’t attempting anything.”

“Regardless of what Wayne Reese decides in terms of civil action, I’m pretty sure the County Attorney will be moving forward with assault charges. She’ll start with second-degree, which is a felony, but if you’ll keep your mouth shut and let me do my best, I think we can get it down to fourth-degree, which is a whisker over the line into misdemeanor. Your boyfriend had been attacked and rendered unconscious. Normally, it’d be a pretty clear case of self-defense, but the damage you did . . .” She shook her head. “The county’s going to have a lot of fun with pictures of him in the hospital. People won’t be able to tell it’s Wayne Reese, that’s how bad it is. Tell me what happened.”

“I’ve already told everyone what happened.”

“Get used to it. You’re going to tell me a hundred times if I ask you to, so start talking.”

Theo worked his jaw. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well, you’d better tell me about that too.”

Theo sketched out the events that had taken place from the moment Wayne walked into the house. Thompson asked questions. He ignored them. They drove the last ten minutes in silence.

“Think about what you want,” Thompson said when she dropped him at his house. “But if you dig in your heels now and then decide you want my help after they’ve got you in county again, my rates are double.”

Mumbling thanks, Theo got out of the car. He went inside, locked the door behind him, and went to the bathroom. He took down the shower curtain rod, held it at an angle, and rocked it back and forth until the plastic baggie slid free. He took two of the pills, replaced the bag, and returned the shower rod to its mounting. After dry swallowing, he leaned against the sink, his back to the mirror. He considered the floor, where he’d left a trail of muddy shoeprints and snowmelt. This isn’t normal, a part of his brain told him. Normal people aren’t in such a hurry that they can’t take off their shoes, can’t even wipe their feet before they get their fix. He pulled the towel from the rod and mopped up his trail, and then he toed off his boots near the door. He was vaguely aware that the furnace had turned on, the pills had kicked in, and he was flushed and sweating. Stripping out of his clothes, he stumbled to the couch, lay down, and fell asleep.

Knocking woke him.

Everything had balanced out by then, the slight cloudiness in his thinking just enough. Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, he made his way to the door. Brown eyes, he thought. Mouth shifting nervously from grin to worry and back to grin. He’ll be tangled in his scarf, and I’ll have to help him out of it.

When he opened the door, Orlando was standing there. The January air—no, February, it was February now—stung Theo’s bare chest and legs. He adjusted the blanket. Orlando was wearing a coat and heavy gloves. His hands opened and closed, and the boards squeaked as he shifted his