SLOANE DIDN’T know who was going to end up in traction by the end of this, him or Dex. The doctor had all but kicked Dex out of the hospital after he’d attempted to instruct Dex on how best to recuperate only to have Dex interrupt every other word with a question about whether doing or not doing whatever random thing popped into his mind, would impede the healing process. That included playing video games, going to the toilet, showering, sleeping, sleeping on his side, on his back, on his stomach, going up stairs, going down stairs, driving, sitting, drinking alcohol, doing laundry, taking off his shoes, getting dressed, fooling around, having sex. And that had been within five minutes of the doctor’s arrival. Giving up, the doctor addressed Sloane. Silly man attempted to ignore Dex. Dex was not one to be ignored.
In the end, Sloane told Dex to get some rest or in other words, shut up, and asked the doctor to step with him outside. The look of pure relief on the man’s face had made Sloane chuckle. He understood the feeling. The doctor gave Sloane instructions for Dex’s painkillers, including the maximum amount Sloane could give him. After a sympathetic smile, the doctor released Dex into Sloane’s care. It took him three hours to get Dex home. Mostly because the second he’d turned his back, Dex was maneuvering his wheelchair down the hospital corridor nearly causing a pileup. Maddock was going to owe him a hell of a lot more than vacation time for this.
Finally, he had Dex settled on his couch with plenty of pillows and blankets from the hall closet. Sloane didn’t know what he’d expected Dex’s place to look like, maybe something resembling an M.C. Escher piece, but certainly not the sleek, modern, sophisticated décor he found around him. To the left of the entry hall was the living room, dark wood floors with white walls and furniture in chocolate hues. Across from the long brown couch was a white fireplace with a large flat screen TV positioned above it. To each side of the fireplace, the walls were set back and lined with wood shelves filled with movies, books, games, and CDs. There were side tables with lamps and framed photos of him and his family, including him with his biological parents.
“Nice place,” Sloane said, looking around.
“Should have seen it after Lou moved out. Looked like I’d been robbed. I didn’t realize how much shit was his until he’d taken it with him.” Dex shrugged. “I unpacked a load of stuff I’d stored in the basement and went on a massive online shopping spree. They assigned me my own UPS guy and everything.”
Sloane couldn’t tell if Dex was making up that last part. With his partner, anything was possible. He wouldn’t be surprised if the guy had charmed his way to getting his personal delivery man.
The kitchen was behind the living room, sectioned off by a large marble counter. It was all black, with white marble countertops, including the large island counter in the center. Across from the kitchen to one side was the dining room, and to the right of that, the stairs, leading to, he assumed, the bedrooms.
“This sucks,” Dex complained for the hundredth time.
Sloane went back to tending to Dex, removing Dex’s shoes and placing them behind the couch this time so he wouldn’t trip over them. “The sooner you get better, the sooner Maddock will bring you back in, so suck it up. Do you have enough pillows?”
“Yes.”
“Blankets?”
“Yes.”
“Painkillers?”
“Yep.”
“Hungry?”
“Oh my God!”
“I’m sorry.” Sloane held his hands up. “I’m trying to help.”
Dex lolled his head toward Sloane, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. Don’t do the face thing.”
“What face thing?” Painkillers should be kicking in soon. Of course, Sloane had no idea if that was a good thing or not. He took a seat on the hardwood coffee table beside Dex.
“That pouty bottom lip thing,” Dex replied, reaching his arm out and poking a finger at Sloane’s bottom lip. On instinct, Sloane smacked his hand away, and Dex let out a painful yelp.
“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Sloane crouched down beside him. He attempted to take hold of Dex’s arm, but his partner shrank away from him, his arm cradled against his chest. Dex’s whole face had gone red and Sloane cringed.
“What the fuck, man? You’re a horrible nurse!”
“I forgot. I’m sorry. It was a reflex. You gotta stop sticking your finger in my face. You grew up around a Felid. If you wave shit in our faces, it’s bound to get swatted. What can I do to make it up to you?” He knew he was asking for trouble, but he really did feel bad about hitting Dex. “You sure you have enough painkillers?”
“Not nearly enough.”
Sloane’s phone rang, and he silently thanked God. Getting to his feet, he was actually happy to hear from Maddock.
“Hey. Any news?”
“We did some quiet reconnaissance on Isaac Pearce’s whereabouts. He’s not our guy. Apparently, when he’s not in his workshop in Brooklyn, he’s with his church group. Several members confirm Isaac was with them during the time of the murders. There are also a couple of café owners who confirm Isaac was in their shop during our windows of opportunity. There are receipts to back this up. I ran him through Themis as well and got nothing. Good news, we should be getting the lab results back on Ortiz any day now.”
“Okay. Thanks. Keep us posted.”
“Will do. How’s the patient?”
Sloane cast a glance at Dex who was glowering at him. “Not feeling very patient.”