“Yeah.”
He motioned over his head. “The hair. The hair … God, the fucking hair, especially if it was a woman. Matted with blood, dirt, little rocks … tangled and twisted … lying on gray skin. When I can’t sleep at night, that’s what I see. I see the hair.” His hands automatically began to rub themselves. “You always wore these gloves, you know … so you didn’t get fingerprints on anything, didn’t leave any of yourself behind. Early days they used to be latex—later, they were nitrile. And sometimes, when I’d handle a body, the hair would get on the gloves … and it was like it wanted to get into me? Like … you could catch death by murder somehow.” He shook his head. “Those gloves were so fucking thin. And they didn’t work.”
Axe frowned. “Why did you have to wear them then?”
“No, no, they worked with fingerprints, you know. But I left something of myself behind in all those dead bodies. Every one of them … has a piece of me.”
Starting with my sister, he thought. And to be accurate, she had taken the largest hunk out of him.
There was a long stretch of silence.
“You were in the human world?” Axe asked. “I mean … it sounds like you were—”
“Yeah, a while ago. Now … I’m something else.” Butch cleared his throat. “G’head, get outta here. You need your workout. You, me, and Craeg will go get all your shit—and maybe it’ll help me if you’re in the car with that hardheaded sonofabitch. I think I’m going to have to fight to keep him from jumping out and pulling a runner.”
“Yeah. Okay. Sure.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. And he wasn’t a nobody. Taking care of you made him count.”
Axe turned away and paused again, like he was bracing himself. Then he pushed his way out into the corridor and was gone.
As the glass door quietly eased shut, Butch stared straight ahead. He hadn’t intended to reveal that much to the male—he never spoke about that shit to anyone.
Putting his head in his hands, he took some deep breaths … and prayed to God that none of the other interviews went like that one.
Chapter Twenty-six
Paradise finally let her feet drop to the mat, but she kept her grip on the chin-up bar. Her lungs were on fire, her shoulders and biceps were screaming, and there was a line of sweat working its way from the back strap of her sports bra down her spine. The cool thing was, though, she had learned that this woozy feeling was going to pass fast, and then she would be on to the next set of reps.
Glancing over at Peyton, she found him on the treadmill, and she was impressed. He was running like a bat out of hell, big body in perfect form, his head up, eyes unfocused but alert. She’d never pegged him for an athlete—then again, all he’d done was bong lifts before.
The question was, where was—
“Hey.”
As Novo came up to her, Paradise smiled. “Good job with those sit-ups. You did, like, five hundred.”
“Actually it was five hundred eighty-two. Listen, Craeg just left. He looked upset. Thought you might want to go help him with his problem.”
Paradise wheeled for the door, but stopped. “I don’t … I mean, it’s not like I know him.”
“Do any of us? And I’m pretty damn sure you’re the one he wants to talk to.”
“Why’s that?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Ah … okay, thanks.”
Heading for the exit, she glanced at the Brother Tohrment. “May I please be excused to go to the ladies’ room?”
“You got it, Paradise.”
Slipping out into the corridor, she looked left and right, expecting to find Craeg pacing or sitting on the floor. Nope. Everything was empty.
Her body cooled efficiently as she went farther down to the males’ locker room. Breathing in, she caught his scent, knew he was inside—and, sensing no hint of anyone else, she went to the metal door and knocked.
“Craeg?”
When there was no answer, she pulled the door open a little and saw nothing but a concrete wall. Heading in, she went around until she was in the large open area with all the lockers. Wow. Ten times the size of the females’ one, but without the couches and the nice place to sit down to do your hair and makeup. Assuming you needed to.
Man, she was so jumpy, she was talking gibberish to herself.
New level.
“Craeg?” she said more loudly.
There was the sound of running water—a sink, not a shower—and she cleared her throat. “Craeg!”
“What the fuck!”
And then there was more cursing until he marched out of a different section of the facility. Water was dripping from his face and his hands, and his T-shirt was damp around the neck.
“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, passing a palm over his wet hair, shoving the stuff back.
God, his eyes were amazing, so deeply set and such a pale blue. And his shoulders were so big. And his chest was— “Novo said you need help.”
“Novo said what?”
“She told me you—”
“No, no.” He whipped a hand through the air like he was erasing his question. “Why would she—” Craeg stopped. Then muttered something like, “I’m going to kick her ass.”
“Why?” Paradise frowned. “Are you okay? Do you need to feed some more—”