Touching Evil by Rob Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

booths. Yeah. Perfect.
    A round black lady grinned at them, grabbing menus. "Y'all want to sit?"
    Artie grabbed a menu from her, smiling right back, working the charm
a little. Go him. "Can we order to go and sit and wait over here by the
door?"
    "Sure, honey. Just holler when you're ready."
    Greg smiled, nodded at her, let him take both menus. One episode in
a restaurant was one too many. That had been early on, before he'd
understood that Greg would let him push too hard, let him push too far.
    They ordered chicken and ribs and beans and macaroni and biscuits
and yeah, even greens. They'd have leftovers tomorrow, which was good,
‘cause he'd taken a day off. "Ooh, pecan pie."
    "Oh, yum. There's milk at the house to wash it down with, too." Greg
stepped closer as a rugrat barreled toward them, tripping on the loose
rug. Greg reached out, caught him instinctively, eyes going wide a
second. "Greens are not poison. He was lying. They're good."
    The kid looked up, mouth open. Then he ran off hollering. "Moooommy!"
    Artie cussed a little under his breath. "Sit, man. I'll stand and run interference."
    "I'm sorry." Greg swallowed hard, moving back toward the chairs. He
caught a glimpse as Greg turned to look at the poster on the wall,
hands buried in the dark jacket.
    "Why?" Shit. He pushed Greg a little, right over where he wasn't
touching anything but was out of the way. "You've had a rough couple of
days."
    "Yes, but ordering take out should not be a traumatic experience. You'd think I could manage it without scaring small children."
    "Greg, man. You're not scaring him." More like freaking him out. "So. You wanna hear what Leah and I got?"
    That got him a look, a nod, the kid forgotten, just like that. Damned bloodhound. "You know I do. Anything solid?"
    "We've got six runaways that fit your profile. Blonde, young enough,
yadda ya. Got uniforms doing door to doors." Beyond that? Bah humbug.
    "Did you bring pictures? I didn't see much, but maybe I can help."
Maybe. Of course, that was better than a lot of people could offer.
    "I have the file in my car. When we get you home." When Greg was in
a nice safe place, with his own shit around him. No way was he looking
any sooner. "Man, that smells good, huh?"
    "It does. Like Sunday supper. It was a good idea, detective. Food we
can eat with our fingers." He got a full-blown smile, eyes just
twinkling. "Duke's gonna be pissed at you."
    "I'll take him a thigh. He loves thighs." Duke might forgive him if
he did. And a little sliver of pecan pie. That cat had a fiendish sweet
tooth. "Anyway, he's happy as long as I leave the remote on the coffee
table."
    Greg laughed, a real belly laugh that sort of filled up the place, Adam's apple just bobbing. "Game shows or infomercials?"
    "Dog shows. On the animal channel. I think it makes him feel
superior." That was much, much better. Artie touched, just a bit, his
knuckles grazing Greg's hip.
    "Oh, I can't blame him. It's not everyone that can say they own a
detective." He needed to take Greg over to visit Duke soon. The fucking
beast adored Greg with a singular passion. It was ... obscene. Duke
hadn't sat on anyone else's lap but Leah's husband's in five years.
Maybe Duke was gay.
    Their number came up, and Artie went and paid, grabbing three big
bags of food. Hoo yeah. That smelled like heaven. "Thanks, honey. It's
gonna make a couple of really happy men."
    He turned. "You ready, Greg?"
    The heavy duty growl of Greg's stomach answered him before Greg's nod did. "I am starving and ready to just dig in."
    "Cool." It would take them about ten minutes now that he knew where
the hell he was. The food would still be warm. "We got pie, so I'll go
get doughnuts tomorrow, yeah?"
    "And I'll make coffee." Greg nodded, walked with him, steady as you please. "The good stuff."
    "Anything is better than station coffee." The unspoken "except
yours" hung in the air as he walked Greg to the car, checking the
street carefully, just in case.
    "Oh, you haven't tasted