A Dangerous Game (24 page)

“Really, sweetheart. It’s probably someone ringing the wrong buzzer anyway.” Wren glanced over at the alarm clock on Rufus’s nightstand. “It’s only a little after eight. Who would be coming to see you now?”

Rufus gnawed at his lower lip, and his eyes revealed a terror that lowered the heat in the room considerably. It made Wren want even more to simply take him in his arms and shelter and protect him.

Rufus lay back, and Wren thought he had won out. He was about to plant a gentle kiss on Rufus’s damp neck when the buzzer intruded again, loud and startling.

Then again.

“I have to see who this is.” Rufus hopped from the bed and searched around on the floor for shorts and tee.

“Be careful. Don’t let anyone in unless you know who it is,” Wren called from the bed, where he was already sitting up, rooting around for his own clothes. He told himself a murderer had not come to call.

Would a murderer ring the buzzer to be let in? What would he say when Rufus asked him to identify himself?

It just couldn’t happen, not in this world. Not with the sun shining so brightly outside, not with Rufus’s come still damp and tacky on his chest.

Yeah, tell that to my pounding heart.

Wren listened as Rufus briefly conferred with someone, and then he heard the sound of what was Rufus presumably buzzing someone in.

No, don’t!

Wren got up reluctantly from the bed, thinking he should call in to the store, but there was just too much going on to bother with it right now. Maybe after things—and his thundering heart—had calmed down, he would call, complaining of the flu. He hoped they would be understanding.

He got dressed hurriedly as he heard the sound of Rufus unlocking the door to someone.

Who could it be?

Wren tiptoed to the bedroom’s entrance and peered out, watching as Rufus opened the door slowly.

WREN CONTINUED
into the living room to find Rufus letting in one of the most gorgeous African American men he had ever seen. The guy followed Rufus into the living room and directed a weak smile at Wren. The man’s pale, almost amber eyes contrasting so wonderfully with his dusky skin struck Wren. He had never seen eyes so arresting.

“This is Tony,” Rufus offered. “No worries. He works for the service.”

Sure he does. With looks like that—the shaved head, the muscles, the pouting and full lips fashioned expressly for kissing—what else could he do, other than be a supermodel?

“Hi, I’m Wren.”

Tony shook his hand.

“Why don’t we all sit down? Tony here says he has some news.”

They sat, looking expectantly at Tony.

Tony began, “It’s Chillingsworth. I don’t know how to put this.” He paused for a long while. “He’s dead.”

There was silence in the room for several moments. Wren felt a kind of electrical charge in the air. This was serious. This was targeted. He thought, in that moment of stunned quiet, back to when he had asked Rufus how many escorts were in on the blackmail scheme.

He shivered when he thought of his response, “Three.” Two of them were dead. The owner of the escort service—dead. Wren looked over at Rufus, so alive, so vital. The killer would come for him next.
Oh God, no.

It was Rufus who broke the silence. “When did this happen?”

“They found him this morning, in his condo. He had been stabbed. The apartment was a real horror show—enough blood splatter to keep Dexter busy for days. The coroner estimated that his time of death was sometime last night, during that big storm,” Tony said.

Wren leaned forward on the couch. “How do you know all this?”

Tony gave him a mysterious smile. “I have friends in high places.”

Wren sat back. He supposed it wasn’t so strange that someone on the Chicago police force was a client of À Louer and was “friends” with the almost paranormally handsome Tony. What he did find strange, though, was the fact that three men sat here, three men who had all known Davidson Chillingsworth, and yet not one of them seemed anything other than stunned. There wasn’t a teardrop between the three, nor a moment of sadness.

He got what he deserved.
The thought popped into Wren’s head unbidden, and he quickly quashed it.
That’s no way to think. He was a man. A human being. He may have done bad things, but he still had somewhere, at some time, people who loved him. There must be one person out there at least who will mourn his passing. Maybe a mother, a sister, brother, father, friend. No matter what he did, he didn’t “deserve” to die. Shame on you.

Rufus asked, “When did you say he was killed?”

“Last night.”

Rufus glanced over at Wren, telegraphing him something significant in his gaze. It took Wren only a moment to make the connection. He blurted out, “You called him this morning.”

Tony stood and stared out at the bright day. He turned back. “Did you speak to him?”

“No. That was the weird thing.” Rufus told him about the brief conversation he’d had with the woman he assumed was an assistant of some sort of Dave’s.

“A woman?” Tony sat back down between Rufus and Wren. “Davidson Chillingsworth didn’t have an assistant. And if he did, you can sure as hell bet it would not be some chick. What time was this?”

“Early,” Rufus responded, his voice gone toneless.

“Dude, that must have been after he was dead.”

Even though sunlight poured in through the windows, exposing dust motes dancing on the air, the room went silent again, and Wren felt cold, colder than he should have in spite of the air conditioning. He whispered, “It was probably his killer who answered the phone.” The thought made it hard to swallow, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

Rufus stared at him, and Wren thought he was searching for something to say.

“Do you really think so?”

“Who else could it have been? Who would have his phone?”

“So,” Tony said. “That must mean the killer is a female?” He shook his head. “I can’t quite wrap my head around that.”

“Or it could have been more than one person.” Wren stopped and didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t. A simple, innocent-looking household device, lying harmlessly on the coffee table, had captured his focus, filling him with dread. When he was finally able to summon words, he pointed to the cordless phone and asked Rufus, “You do have an unlisted number for that, right?”

Rufus seemed distracted. He barely looked at Wren when he responded, “What?”

“Your landline phone number. It’s unlisted, isn’t it?”

Rufus shook his head. “No. What are you worried about—”

He stopped speaking abruptly, and Wren watched as the realization—and the fear—tumbled into place across his features.

“Oh God.” Rufus swallowed hard. Wren watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

It was Tony who spoke aloud their fear. “That means you practically laid your address right into the killer’s hands. Dude, you have to get out of here, stay someplace else. Somewhere safe. You need to call the cops.” Tony shook his head. “Although I bet they’ll also be showing up at your door before too long.” He put a hand on Rufus’s arm. “Maybe they’ll put you under some kind of guard, some protection.”

Rufus laughed, but it was bitter. “For a gay prostitute? Sure they will.”

Wren sat mute, staring ahead and wishing suddenly he wasn’t so worthless. How could he help? He didn’t even have a place to offer Rufus where he could hide out, a place where he would be safe.

What were they going to do? Wren turned to Tony. Even though he had just met the man, he felt desperate times called for desperate measures, so he didn’t hesitate to ask for the favor. “Hey, Tony—can Rufus stay with you for a while? Until this woman is caught?”

Tony smiled. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself.” He touched Rufus’s arm again. He seemed a very touchy-feely kind of guy. In another time and another place, Wren might have found his physicality very promising. “Dude, you can stay at my crib for as long as you need. I’ve got a cool guest room.”

“No.” Rufus stared at both of them. “No one is chasing me out of here. This is home for however long I have it. And I don’t know how long that’s gonna be, now that the service is most likely gone. If some bitch wants to try and harm me, let her come ahead.”

Wren felt a tickle in his chest that he identified as rising hysteria. “Are you crazy, man? This ‘bitch’ has killed three pretty able-bodied men already. What makes you think you can defend yourself against her? What makes you think she’s working alone? That woman who answered the phone last night could have just been with the killer—doesn’t mean she
was
the killer. So why would you think you’d stand a chance?”

Rufus regarded both of them for long enough to make Wren wonder what he was about to say. When he did speak, Wren couldn’t have been more stunned at his response.

“Because I think I know who this
bitch
is.”

WREN AND
Tony both were slack-jawed at Rufus’s pronouncement.

Wren spoke up first. “What? You know who she is?”

“I have a pretty good idea, yes.”

“Well then, don’t hold back from us. Who is it?” Tony asked.

“I don’t want to say just yet.”

“Dude, you need to call the police, right now,” Tony said.

Rufus shook his head. “I need to think about this some more before I make any move.”

Wren tried to keep a pleading tone out of his voice when he said, “What could you possibly have to think about? Rufus, man, if you have any idea who the killer might be, you have to go to the cops with it. For your own sake, if nothing else.”

Rufus looked first at Tony, then at Wren. “What if I’m wrong?”

“So you’re wrong. At least your suspicions will be on record. And if you’re right, all to the good, man. Please call.” Wren picked up the cordless and held it out to Rufus.

Rufus took the phone from him, looked at it like it was a piece of abstract sculpture, then set it back on the coffee table. “I’m not calling anyone yet.” He stood and paced the room. “Tony, we don’t want to keep you. Is there someplace you need to be?”

Tony, who had been leaning back into the couch, legs sprawled open before him, looking very comfortable in light of the circumstances swirling around all of them, shook his head. “Nah, bud, I’m cool. I can hang with you, make sure everything’s copacetic.”

Rufus said, “Everything’s copacetic. You probably need to be out there now, finding yourself some new employment. That is, if you want to continue living in the style to which you’ve become accustomed.”

This last mention seemed to strike a chord with Tony, who sat up straighter on the couch, as though it hadn’t yet sunk in that the death of Chillingsworth could very well mean the death of both Tony and Rufus’s livelihoods.

“Damn, I hadn’t given much thought to that. Stupid. Not gonna be any calls, out or in, without Davidson around.”

“Right,” Rufus said. “It’s cool, man. You can go. I have Wren here, and I’ll be calling the cops in just a few. Just need to think about things, what I’m gonna say, before I do.”

“And you’re not gonna tell me who you think this chick is?”

“I need to give it some more thought before I point any fingers. Besides, if it’s who I think it is, I’m the only one who’s in danger. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Tony.”

Tony gave Rufus a wan smile. “I wish I could be so confident.”

“I can’t go into how I know or why just now, but really, man, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’d bet my last dollar on it.”

“Okay. That makes me feel
marginally
better.”

“I need some alone time now here with Wren. You mind?”

Tony nodded. “Okay. But I’m checkin’ back in with you guys in a couple hours. I’ll want to hear that you’ve talked to the police.”

“Sure thing.” Rufus crossed the room to open the front door.

Tony got up and within a minute was gone.

Wren remained on the couch, staring at Rufus. “Now you want to tell me the truth? What’s going on? I may not be as pretty as Tony, but I’m at least as bright. So trust me.”

Rufus chuckled. “You’re brighter. A lot.” He sat back down next to Wren. “Remember when I heard about Evan Maple’s death?”

“Yeah, you disappeared—for the whole night. I was worried about you.”

“I’m sorry, little man. But see, Evan and I were close.”

Wren couldn’t help it. In spite of the danger, in spite of the loss, in spite of all that was going on, he couldn’t stop the very primal stab of jealousy that caused him to shift on the couch.

“We weren’t close in the way you think. We were buddies. See, Chillingsworth always pairs the new guys up with an older one for the first few weeks, just like I was supposed to do with you before you bailed so suddenly. Why
did
you do that, anyway?” Rufus shook his head. “I guess it doesn’t really matter now. The point is Evan was my mentor, if that’s the right word for it. We got very close. He and I had a lot in common in terms of our backgrounds and stuff like that.”

Rufus’s gaze met Wren’s, and Wren noticed how Rufus’s eyes had filled up with tears. He scooted closer to him on the couch, took his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Rufus went on. “I loved the guy. Not in the way you think. But like a brother.”

Rufus let his head loll back on the couch for a moment, closing his eyes. A single tear escaped the corner of one of his eyes, and without thinking, Wren leaned in close and licked it away. Rufus’s breath hiccupped once, a strangled sob, and then he drew in some air, sat up straighter, and laughed.

“Enough of that!” He continued, “Evan and I stayed close long after he was done mentoring me, a fact old Dave would not have liked, had he known. He didn’t want the help fraternizing too much. He liked to keep us isolated once we got working. But I’m getting off track here. Evan, in the last few months, became a changed man. You want to know why?”

Wren nodded.

“He fell in love. Falling in love, for a whore, is never a good idea, and an even worse one if the guy you’re in love with is married—to a woman—and not in love with you.