Draw One In The Dark(110)

So instead of his planned heated denial, he said, "Fine. I'll only be a minute. If anyone needs my opinion on anything, call me."



He grabbed the bag from the bed and took it with him to the little alcove before the bedroom. It weighed far more than it should for a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts. Opening it, he found it had at least as many clothes as he had owned back in his apartment. Better quality though. And more variety. There were a few pairs of jeans, and chinos, T-shirts, and a couple of polos. And, yes, underwear and socks.



He wasn't sure if he was ready to forgive his father, yet, but he was sure that his feet would thank him.



He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Water poured out in torrents. Oh. He might have to take more than a few minutes.

* * *



Much to Kyrie's surprise, the museum did have information on its insect collection online. It wasn't complete. All they had was pictures of the insects and their names.



"Is it this one, Kyrie?" Keith asked. And because the three men remaining—while judging from the sounds from the bathroom Tom was doing his best to deplete Colorado's natural water reserves today rather than in the next fifty years—had all crowded together around the computer, behind Keith who was sitting at the desk, they had to part now, to allow her near enough to see.



The picture was very small, and clicking on it didn't make it bigger. But Kyrie was fairly sure it was the same creature. "Yes. I'm almost positive," she said.



"Cryptosarcodermestus halucigens," Keith read. "Now a quick Google search."



The sounds from the bathroom had become positively strange. Kyrie had known Tom for six months. She would have sworn he was the last person to ever sing in the shower. And if he had ever sang in the shower, she was sure—absolutely sure—it wouldn't be "The Lion Sleeps Tonight." Although—and she grinned—there was always the possibility that he was trying to tweak Rafiel. And tweaking was definitely in Tom's personality.



She wasn't so stupid that she didn't realize that though the men seemed to get along with each other—fighting triad dragons must have done it—they seemed to have a rivalry going over her. Right now it was composed of mostly stupid things—like how she reacted to something each of them said.



Kyrie wasn't sure she could deal with any of it. She was sure she didn't wish Rafiel to kiss her again. Well, maybe a little. But not if it was going to hurt Tom.



"Aha," Keith said, from the computer. He'd brought up a colorful screen, surmounted by a picture of the beetle.



"Yes, it's that one," Kyrie said. "It definitely is."



"Well, it's our old friend Sarcodermestus," Keith said. "And listen to this, guys . . ." He stopped, as they heard the door to the bathroom open and close. "Might as well wait for Tom," he said, under his breath.



Tom, Kyrie thought, as he came toward them, barefoot, walking silently across the carpeted floor, was definitely worth waiting for. At least the man cleaned up well. He'd shaved and tied his hair back. The new clothes, jeans and a white T-shirt, seemed to have been spray painted on his body. They underlined his broad shoulders, defined his musculature, and made quite a fetching display of his just-rounded-enough-but-clearly-muscular behind. He looked far more indecently naked than he'd been when she'd found him with the corpse in the parking lot. And, as he pressed in close, he smelled of vanilla. Vanilla soap and vanilla shampoo, probably some designer brand used by the Spurs and Lace.



Kyrie swallowed. She wasn't drooling either. And besides, if she were, it would be because it was vanilla. She was almost positive.



He pushed in close, between her and Rafiel—he would—and said, "Listen to what? What have you found, Keith?"



"On the beetles," Keith said. "They rub their wings together to produce clouds of hallucinogenic powder to disable their victims. And the male puts down some sort of hormonal scent. It attracts the victim as well as the prey they need to reproduce."



"Prey?" Kyrie said. It was very hard to think next to a vanilla factory. Up till today, she'd always have said she was a chocolate type of girl. But apparently vanilla would to the trick. Provided it was good vanilla.



"They lay eggs in the bodies of freshly killed victims, which have to be of a certain species of beetle. By the time the victims have reached a certain point in the decomposition, the eggs are ready to emerge as larvae." Keith said. "They bury the corpses in shallow graves, so that the larvae can crawl out on their own."



"So, if I were a beetle, which I am not," Tom said, "where would I hide the corpses with the eggs in them?"