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His last thought before falling into a deep sleep was to wonder how he’d managed all those years of constant sleep deprivation.
He woke slowly and with the recognition that he’d slept on something far too short for him; his back and neck were sore. It took him several seconds to realize that the soft, feathery object tickling his cheek was the throw that usually lived on the back of the wingback.
He started, almost falling off the couch and wincing as his neck protested at being turned at that particular angle. Cutter was dressed and seated in the overstuffed chair at his head.
“You said something about going over to my apartment and seeing what was salvageable,” Cutter reminded him. He sat up slowly, feeling his muscles stretch painfully from the position they’d been wedged into overnight.
“I’m sorry, Mike,” he said honestly. “Hal Policicchio didn’t think there was anything left.”
Something set in Cutter’s expression. “You talked to him? When?”
“Yesterday afternoon … we were trying to put the pieces of the case together.” McCoy rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I should have called, but at the time, I thought it would be better to tell you in person … and then I forgot. I’m sorry.”
A muscle worked in Cutter’s cheek. “You forgot.”
McCoy nodded, his apology written across his face.
“Easy for you to forget,” Cutter spat. “You’re not the one who’s homeless.” Standing abruptly, he made his way deeper into the apartment, leaving McCoy to puzzle over what had just happened.
Link to [Part 39]