Hide Out (14 page)

Holding up his thumbs, Trevor showed them to her. “Completely brown,” he said sadly.

She laughed and then stopped herself, covering her mouth with her hand. “Silly.”

Abby shook her head. “I should get back. Enjoy the tomatoes.” She hurried off with a wave.

“Thank you,” Pete called after her. He watched her hurry back across the street to her house, a beige ranch-style with dark green trim that sat next door to Roth-fathering Len’s place. Trevor rested his chin on Pete’s shoulder, leaning into him. Pete tipped his head to rest against Trevor’s temple. “You were nice.”

“So was she,” Trevor shot back defensively. “Besides, I feel kind of bad for her. Her husband’s kind of an asshole.”

His eyebrows twisting together in confusion, Pete asked, “Wait—is she married to the closet case?”

“Greg?” Trevor said. “No—that’s what’s-her-name…Melissa?”

“Michelle,” Pete corrected. “Right. Abby’s married to Terrance then?”

“Terrance is sweaty and balding, right?”

“Yeah.”

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“Then yeah, Abby’s married to Terrance,” Trevor confirmed with a small nod, digging his chin into Pete’s shoulder. His arms snuck around Pete’s waist, tugging his ass against Trevor’s groin.

Pete caught his breath. “So Terrance is an asshole too?”

“Not as big a one as closet-case Greg but yeah.” Trevor circled his hips, grinding his burgeoning cock against Pete’s ass. “I could tell by how she acts. Bet he tells her she’s boring when she talks about gardening and shit.”

“Huh.” His voice was rusty and he cleared his throat. It wasn’t that Pete didn’t care about the neighbor. It was just right now, with Trevor’s erection pressing against his ass, he really,
really
didn’t care about Abby or any of their neighbors. “Time for a break?”

Trevor gave an amused snort. “Aren’t we taking a break right now?”

Balancing the box of tomatoes on the railing so he could hold it with one hand, Pete slipped the other arm behind him to grab Trevor’s hip and pull him hard against him.

“I meant a
special
break,” he said, his voice quiet and rough. “Inside?”

“Why, Pete,” Trevor gasped with a fake Southern drawl. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“I don’t know,” Pete growled, pulling the other man even more tightly against his ass. “If you think I’m suggesting we go inside and I pin you against the counter, rip off your clothes, hold you down and fuck you until your head explodes, then yeah, I am suggesting that.”

“That’s funny. I was thinking exactly the same thing.” Trevor’s hand dipped from Pete’s waist toward the bulge in the front of his jeans.

“C’mon,” Pete ordered. Before he could turn around though, a car pulled up in front of the house. Catching the movement in the corner of his eye, Pete whipped back around.

Two men, one driving and one in the passenger seat, occupied the car. Neither was familiar to Pete.

“Get in the house,” he ordered quietly.

“What?” Trevor dropped his arms and stepped back. “Why?”

“Get in the house.” Pete enunciated each word. “Now.” Shit. His gun was inside. He hadn’t thought he’d need it just fixing the fucking porch. The men got out of the car and he used his body to crowd Trevor toward the front door, which also served to keep Pete between the men and Trevor.

“What the hell?” Trevor protested, poking his head around Pete’s shoulder. “Oh,”

he laughed. “It’s okay. I know these guys.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s safe,” Pete insisted, still trying to push Trevor back. “Get inside the fucking house!” The cop who’d betrayed Trevor a year ago had probably known him.

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“No, seriously, Pete.” Trevor darted around him and down the stairs, giving his arm a quick, reassuring squeeze as he passed. “You can trust these guys.”

“Fuck—Trevor!” he snapped, grabbing for him, but Trevor was already out of reach, grabbing the closer of the two men in a hard hug. Pete trailed after him, swearing under his breath.

“You must be Pete,” the shorter man said with a cheery grin, extending his hand.

“Nate Washington, but you can call me Wash ’cause everyone does. The big guy over there making out with Tr—ah,
Joey
, is Rhodie.”

Pete shook hands with a short nod of greeting, still uneasy and intensely pissed at this turn of events. It didn’t help that Wash was drop-dead gorgeous and had just had his arms wrapped around Trevor.

“Making out?” The other man repeated. He was big—a rough-around-the-edges bear of a man whose demeanor just screamed cop. “I just hugged him. And it’s Isaac Rhodes, by the way.”

Pete eyed them both coldly. “He e-mailed his location to you.” Fuck, he was mad.

“Hey now, it’s not like that—” Wash started but Rhodes cut him of with a sharp wave of his hand.

“No, he didn’t,” Rhodes told him, taking a step closer. “And we shouldn’t talk out here. Inside.”

Although it irritated him, Pete knew he was right. Stepping aside, he waved the other three toward the house. Wash and Trevor went willingly enough but Rhodes gestured for him to go first.

Definitely a cop
, Pete decided. He eyed Rhodes, debating whether it was worth pushing the issue, but the other man’s even, implacable gaze convinced him to let Rhodes take up the rear. As he climbed the porch steps, his back stiff, Pete couldn’t help but wonder whether Rhodes and Trevor had hooked up. If the big cop could get Pete to do what he wanted without even saying a word, he’d most likely be a master of domination in bed.

Pete tried to block out thoughts of Rhodes and Trevor together but the image wouldn’t leave his brain.

“Did you get hit by burglars?” Wash asked, peering into the various, mostly empty rooms. “Or is this some decorating scheme—American Barren or something?”

The amusement in his voice pricked Pete’s already-wounded pride. “We’re refinishing the floors and painting first,” he said, hating the defensiveness in his voice.

“Then we’ll shop for furniture.”

“If we’d known you two were showing up, we’d have picked up a few bean bag chairs at least,” Trevor added, grinning. Pete wasn’t sure if it was Trevor’s pleasure in seeing the two men or what, but his grin sent another surge of fury through Pete.

“How did you find him?” Pete demanded.

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“Seriously?” Wash asked, examining a hall closet as if he could pull a couch from its depths. “There’s
nothing
to sit on?”

“There’re camping chairs,” Trevor suggested. “Or the floor. So how are you guys?

How’re Carlos and Miguel?”

Wash pulled his head out of the closet. “They’re great. Carlito can pick a lock almost as fast as Rhodie. We’re working on electronic locks but I don’t want to overwhelm him with too much all at once. Wee Miguel’s going to science camp. He likes the creepy-crawlies.”

Pete could feel his blood heating, the steam rising into his head like a cartoon.

“How did you find Trevor?” he asked again, this time through his teeth.

“He e-mailed us,” Rhodes explained, and Pete jumped. He hadn’t realized Rhodes was so close behind him.

“You told them,” Pete said flatly, looking at Trevor, whose grin slowly dropped away, replaced by a scowl.

“No, he didn’t,” Wash interjected. “The IP address of your laptop gave us the general area. Since this
particular
general area doesn’t have too many newcomers—

especially hot, gay, blond ones—it just took a few phone calls to find out where you were living.”

It’d been easy,
Pete thought, his stomach contracting in on itself. If Rhodes and Wash had been a couple of Hal Haas’ minions, he and Trevor could be dead right now. He closed his eyes. He’d thought he was being so clever with his cover stories and new house and small town instead of a big city, but the whole time he was leaving a trail deep and wide enough for a five-year-old to follow. Nice protector he was turning out to be.

“Who else?” he demanded, looking at Trevor, who scowled back at him silently.

“Who else did you e-mail?”

“No one,” Trevor told him, his jaw set tightly. “I’m not an idiot.”

Pete bit off his first reply. “Go pack,” he said instead.

“What? Why?”

“We have to leave.”

“Hang on.” Wash stepped forward. “No need to rush out of here. No one else could’ve gotten that information. Not without getting an e-mail from Trev here.”

“You’re his friends,” Pete clipped out. “They’re watching you, tracking calls, tailing you. If you found Trevor, then
they’ll
find him.”

Wash snorted. “No one followed us.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Pete just looked at him.

“Rhodie zigzagged around the city for about two hours,” Wash told him, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, he went around in so many circles I got dizzy and almost puked in his lap. We’re pretty good at knowing how to lose a tail.”

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“If you’re wrong and we stay here,” Pete said evenly, every muscle in his body tight with fury and nerves, “then Trevor gets a bullet in the h-head.”
Not now
, he pleaded silently.
Don’t let me lose it now.

All of the earlier amusement was gone from Wash’s face and his eyes were a livid green. “What are you saying, asshole? That we would risk Trev’s life to come here and hang out and have a good time watching your fucking empty-ass house fall down around our ears?”

“Wash,” Rhodes warned, but both Wash and Pete ignored him, their gazes locked in a furious stare-down.

“Yeah,” Pete bit off, taking a step closer to Wash. “That’s exactly what you did. You might as well have drawn a fucking m-map for th-th-th—” He snapped his teeth together with an audible click. His body had failed him again, shutting down when he most needed to get the words out, when he needed to convince Trevor that his friends were wrong, he wasn’t safe, Pete had failed and Haas’ people were probably lying in wait right now.

There was no way he could talk now. Turning on his heel, Pete slammed out the front door. He didn’t go any farther than the porch—he needed to stay close to Trevor, especially now. Bracing his hands against the railing, he stared blindly across the street.

“Giordano.” Rhodes walked over to stand next to him.

After shooting the man a glare, Pete faced front again without saying anything, not ready to trust his voice.

“No one followed us,” Rhodes said evenly. Although they were the same words Wash had uttered just a few minutes before, there was something in Rhodes’ tone that almost convinced Pete it was true. No one was waiting down the street for a clear shot of Trevor’s head…at least not yet.

“Doesn’t matter,” Pete muttered, a large chunk of his anger dissolving. “You found him in less than a day. They’ll find him too, eventually.” With a sigh, he leaned against the support post. “This house was a fucking stupid idea.”

The man next to him grunted—in agreement or dissent, Pete wasn’t sure. “Not necessarily. Without that e-mail, we’d still be searching for him.”

“Yeah?” Pete felt a touch of hope, which he quickly squashed. He was too fucking attached to this stupid house. “Any way Haas can access that IP address?”

“No.” Rhodes paused. “At least not that I know of. Better check with Wash, though—he’s the computer nerd.”

Pete gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Doubt he’ll talk to me. Punch me in the throat maybe…”

“Nah.” Rhodes shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Wash doesn’t hold grudges. Well, he does but that doesn’t shut him up.”

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Pete was quiet for a few moments. “So you’re the P.I.s Trevor worked for?”

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“
Works
for, yeah,” Rhodes corrected.

Pete cocked an eyebrow. “Took you for a cop.”

“Was,” he told him shortly, his tone and closed expression strongly discouraging any further discussion of the topic. Although Pete was really curious now, he didn’t push. He had a feeling Rhodes was not a good one to push.

“You honestly think Trevor’s safe here?” Pete asked.

Rhodes glanced around at the quiet neighborhood. Their usual audience was missing. Iris and Morty had slowly driven off in their Buick an hour before, heading to an eye doctor appointment. Pete assumed the rest of the adults were at work.

“Seems as safe as anywhere,” Rhodes finally answered. “Did some research on Haas. Not too high-tech. More of a bribe-or-kill kind of guy.”

“Huh,” Pete grunted. “Reassuring.”

“Wash and I’ll stay for a few days,” Rhodes offered, although it was more of a statement than a suggestion. “Few more eyes and guns for you.” He jerked his head at the still-unfinished porch floor. “Can help around here too.”

Pete hesitated. It would be a huge relief to share some of the protection burden, especially since he was currently floating around in a fog of lust and fascination, but he’d just met the two men—how could he trust them?

“There aren’t any beds—or any furniture, actually,” he said, stalling to gain a little thinking time.

Rhodes shrugged. “Trev mentioned that in his e-mail. We came prepared.”

If Trevor had known these guys for a while, worked with them, they would’ve had plenty of opportunity to do him harm if they’d intended to do so. Pete turned to study Rhodes. There was something about the man Pete instinctually trusted—both of the men, actually, although Wash bugged the ever-loving shit out of him.

“Okay,” he agreed, pushing away from the railing. “Come on in. I’ll show you the hard floor you can sleep on tonight.”

* * * * *

“You glad we came yet?” Wash grinned at him.

Pete looked around. He and Rhodes had finished replacing the boards in the porch floor and then all four men had tackled the hardwood floors in the bedrooms. Every protruding nail had been sunk, every gaping hole filled, all of the squeaking boards had been mercilessly nailed to the joists below. The wood floor stretched in front of him, ready to be sanded and buffed and stained.

He grinned back at Wash. “Fine,” he admitted. “I’m glad you came. You might be an asshole but at least you’re a hard-working asshole.”