By Paths Coincident

Chapter 15

Alec Hardison was about to hunt for something worth watching on Netflix and leave his computer to its own devices as it tracked the faces of the thugs who had disrupted the Brew Pub that evening, when he was ambushed by cold, clammy wetness.

He let out what Eliot always called a pathetic bleat, like a panicked sheep, but which was really only a perfectly logical response to being attacked in the middle of a room when one thought one was alone-particularly by something that felt like a Lovecraftian horror.

"You feel nice and warm," said the Elder God, attempting to slither her tentacles up under his shirt.

"Parker!" Hardison responded reasonably, well okay, but shrieking was perfectly reasonable when someone was tickling her icy, thieving fingers all over someone else's stomach.

"Mmmmm," Parker hummed, tucking her rain-drenched head between his neck and his shoulder and dripping.

Trying to pry her off of him was like trying to remove an octopus.

"Woman, do not get water on my keyboard!" he protested, attempting to detach one of her hands from its incursion upon his body heat. "Is that dirt under your fingernails? Stay away from my laptop with that stuff! You and Eliot-always playin' in some kinda disgustin' dirt like you're some kinda troglodytes and trackin' it in to my very delicate electronic . . ."

"I fixed Eliot," Parker informed him, returning her one hand the minute Hardison tried to remove the other.

He should know better than to try to escape the grip of a woman who hung off skyscrapers with her fingertips.

"What do you mean 'fixed'?" Hardison asked, surrendering to the inevitable and just hoping Parker would warm up quickly. He leaned away from the desktop in order to keep the long, wet strands of her hair safely away from anything not water resistant.

"You know, that thing Sophie does for me whenever I don't know what to do about us."

"Oh, you mean giving advice." Hardison nodded. He had long since given up feeling self-conscious that Sophie probably knew more about his sex life and relationship with Parker than he did. "Wait a minute. You gave Eliot advice?"

The mind boggled. Eliot was scary enough on his own. Eliot following Parker-advice was apocalyptic. Fortunately Eliot was a sensible man-most of the time. Although Eliot on a guilt trip might be vulnerable to Parker's brand of brain-bending.

"I'm going to go take a shower," Parker informed him, releasing him suddenly and bounding for the stairs that led to their apartment. From half way up them, she called back down, "Isn't it funny to use water to wash away water?"

And then she was gone.

Apparently that was all he was going to know about her interaction with Eliot. Hardison reminded himself that he trusted both of them, if not to do the sane thing, at least to do the right one.

And speaking of Eliot, here was the man himself, equally dripping but less likely to spoil electronics.

Eliot hooked a chair with one foot and shoved it across the bench from Hardison. Straddling it and folding his arms along the back, he scowled. "Hardison, I need you to do something for me."

Since scowling was pretty much Eliot's default expression, Hardison did not take it personally; however, Eliot had that sort of bleak resolve about him that had made the hairs on the back of Hardison's neck electrify every time he'd seen it since the basement of a hotel, moments before Eliot had introduced him to Damien Moreau.

Rather than write Eliot a blank check, Hardison asked cautiously, "What do you need?"

Eliot pulled a small, spiral-bound notebook out of the inside pocket of his jacket. The man was such a Neanderthal. Hardison kept him supplied with state-of-the-art smart phones, but no-pen and paper had been good enough for his grandpappy, and it was good enough for Eliot.