And worried.
By early afternoon, Snow finally gave up and stumbled out of bed. He drank his coffee while sitting on the window seat in his kitchen, looking out at the Ohio River, watching the heavily bundled joggers puffing past on the rare sunny day. The sense of peace he usually felt when he was home was missing this time. He couldn’t pull his mind from Gratton. Where was the bastard hiding? Why was he even back in town?
As the sun crept back toward the horizon, he restlessly prowled his home, waiting for nightfall when he could take his hunt to the streets. He avoided texts from his friends through the day, because if he talked to them, he’d have to tell them Gratton was back, that their past was threatening to tear through their carefully built lives once again. And he couldn’t do that. Not yet. He wanted to be wrong. Or at least give them one more day of blissful ignorance.
Thinking about Boris Jagger, the piece of filth who’d once employed Gratton as an enforcer, had been part of the reason Snow had been unable to sleep. Snow didn’t think Jagger’s meat puppet would come back to the same bar after being recognized, but he didn’t know where else to look. Cincinnati’s underworld boss had made Ian’s life a living hell even before Ian fell into the hands of Jagger’s thug enforcer. And that enforcer had been watching Snow and his friends in that bar two nights ago.
Bundled in his warmest coat, Snow returned to stalk the Village and parts of Covington. Later, he planned to hit The Laundry Room to find a warm body to take his mind off Jude Torres, but he needed to deal with this burning drive to get answers first. Had Gratton followed them or had it been a coincidence? There was no way of knowing. What he did know, was that Gratton wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Cincinnati. That had been the deal to keep his life. Plus, they’d paid—he, Lucas and Rowe—Jagger to keep the deal in place.
What the hell had happened to change that?
Sometimes, Snow could still see the blood on his hands, could feel that snap back into reality when Lucas had slammed through the door of that motel room and pulled him off the unconscious man he’d beaten nearly to death. It had been the one time he’d truly lost control of the anger that simmered low at all times inside him. While the blood memories came sporadically, the memory of Ian drugged and unaware seemed to hover permanently in the back of Snow’s mind. It had been years and Ian had proved time and again that he’d recovered, that he was strong and capable and happy.
Ian’s strength humbled Snow.
But strong or not, Ian didn’t deserve to run into the man who’d gotten off on torturing him. If Snow still had nightmares about that time, Ian was bound to as well, and seeing that rat-faced thug would only make things worse. Sometimes Snow wished he’d finished the job. But Lucas was right when he’d said that everything that made Snow a good doctor was tied up in his vow to save lives. If he’d given into the urge to choke the life from that evil prick, he wouldn’t have ever totally moved past it.
Cursing, he strode down Madison Avenue, walking past a bank and some small shops. Trying to find one person in this area was probably not his best idea, but he couldn’t help it. His stomach rumbled at the mix of Korean and Italian food scents and...something else he hadn’t smelled in a long time. A Swisher Sweets cigar. Rowe had smoked the damn things when they’d been back in the service. The glowing tip of the cigar lit up a small section of a balcony above him. The man stepped to the black rail, waved a hello. Dark, wavy hair made Snow slow, reminded him of Jude.
Shaking his head, he continued down the street. He was spending too much time thinking about the paramedic. About that damn kiss and the feel of his dick in his hand. The man’s heat had scorched his palm even through the layers of his clothes.
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, Snow pulled it out and frowned at the screen. He didn’t want to talk to Lucas. He couldn’t keep secrets from that man and he didn’t want to tell him about Gratton yet. Not when Lucas had so recently dealt with violence of his own. And not while he was in some kind of love haze with his ex-bodyguard. Bare-backing was something Snow had never done—not once—and couldn’t imagine a time when he’d trust anyone enough to do that.
Snow stopped in the middle of the sidewalk along Madison. He had walked so far that he was now only a couple blocks from the river. He could see the Ascent rising up in front of him, almost mocking him with the tantalizing promise of Lucas and his damn penthouse. But he closed his eyes. Andrei would be there.