Hide Out (8 page)

Trevor followed, muttering, “At least we can hide from the neighbors back here. Fucking small town.”

Snorting a laugh, Pete set the ladder beneath the branch stretching toward the window.

“You know,” Trevor said, examining the tree, “no one could actually reach the window from either of those branches. See?” He pointed. “They get too narrow. You’d have to be Fluffy the Two-Pound Fairy to not break the branch if you’re sitting on it.”

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Pete just grunted and climbed up a few rungs. “No one needs to be looking in at you, even if it was just a kid or Fluffy the Fairy. I’m not taking a chance.”

“Fine.” Trevor handed him the chain saw. “Need me to help or should I go far away before you drop a branch on my head?”

Before Pete could answer, a shout went up next door. Trevor whipped around and saw the neighbor couple hurrying across the lawn toward them. His shoulders lowered as he relaxed, feeling like an idiot for jumping at the least commotion.

“Wait!” the man puffed as he approached, his wife close behind. “Wait!”

“Wait? We’re not going anywhere,” Trevor said under his breath. Pete must have heard because he laughed as he descended the ladder with the chain saw gripped in one hand.

“Get away from that tree!” the woman ordered when she got close. Catching Pete’s equally confused glance, Trevor asked, “Why?”

“You can’t cut it down,” the man insisted. “That would be a crime.”

“A crime?” Pete repeated.

“That tree is over eighty years old,” she told them, crossing her arms over her narrow chest and glaring at him, as if she were going to tackle him and rip the chain saw from his hands. Trevor hid a laugh in a fake cough.

“We’re not going to cut it down,” Pete assured them, using his calm, diffuse-thesituation voice. Obviously he wasn’t enthusiastic about being brought down and desawed by a septuagenarian. Trevor smirked at the idea. “We’re just trimming these branches back a little. We had a young visitor last night who was using this tree to see into the house.”

Their eyes rounded. The couple looked oddly similar, as if years of living together had homogenized their features. Both had short, gray hair and pug noses. The only difference was the man was balding and an inch or two taller than his wife.

“There was someone looking in?” he asked. “Like a peeping Tom?”

Trevor nodded, remembering the shot of terror he’d felt when he’d glimpsed a person outside his window.

“Young? So a teenager, you think?” The couple exchanged a look. Trevor could almost see Pete’s ears prick up. “Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

Another glance passed between the man and woman. She gave a slight nod and he said, “Well, we don’t want to make trouble for anyone, but Danny, Len Swanson’s boy, would be our bet.”

“Why’s that?” Pete casually rested his elbow on one of the ladder rungs. “Has he done this sort of thing before?”

“Noo…” She drew out the word, infusing it with doubt. “But he’s always there. You know, lurking.”

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“Plus he’s gotten a little strange over the past few years,” the man added. “Dresses like a…what’s the term? Roth?”

“No, that’s an I.R.A., dear,” his wife corrected. “Goth, I think.”

The man nodded enthusiastically. “That’s it—Goth. All those black clothes.”

“And in the summer too.” She shook her head. “He must get so warm.”

Clearing his throat, Pete asked, “Where does Danny live?”

“Right across the street,” the woman told him. “That’s another reason we thought it might be him. The blue house. Len was washing his car in the driveway.”

“Ah,” Pete said noncommittally. “We’ll talk to him then.”

At this, the couple looked a little panicky. “You won’t mention we said anything, will you?” the man asked. “I’d hate for him to think we thought he might do something like this.”

“Of course not,” Pete reassured them. “I’ll just talk to him—I won’t accuse him of anything.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Pete smiled. “No problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better take care of these branches. I’m hoping to have enough time to get the porch fixed too.”

“You’re just cutting off two branches?” the man asked suspiciously. Pete nodded.

The couple looked at each other and then nodded slowly. “Okay then,” the woman agreed. “We’ll just watch from our patio then, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Pete assured them solemnly. Trevor couldn’t even look at him. One sideways glance and he’d start howling with laughter.

“Oh,” the woman said, “I’m Iris Hammitt, by the way. This is Morty.”

“Pete,” he said, reaching his free hand to shake. “This is Joey.”

The Hammitts shook the men’s hands and headed back toward their yard. They settled into patio chairs facing the threatened tree.

“Roth?” Trevor murmured.

Pete shot him a look. “Don’t even fucking start or I’ll lose it.”

“How’d you keep a straight face?” Trevor asked, talking low. “I had to stare at the ground so I didn’t bust a gut.”

“I bit my cheek,” Pete admitted. “It fucking hurt.”

Trevor choked back a laugh.

“Don’t.” Pete pointed at him and glared.

Holding up his hands, Trevor gave him his most innocent look. With a skeptical grunt, Pete climbed up the ladder.

“What do you think they’re going to do from over there?” Trevor muttered, sneaking a quick glance at the pair. They waved. He raised his hand in response. 46

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“Supervise?” Pete suggested.

“Just don’t take off too much,” Trevor warned, holding back a snicker. Glaring at him from above, Pete said softly between gritted teeth, “Quit fucking with the guy holding a chain saw.”

Trevor just laughed at the threat.

* * * * *

As Pete stood and twisted, stretching the kinks out of his back, he kept his eyes on Trevor.

The man knows how to wield a crowbar.
Coughing to cover a laugh, Pete wiped the smirk off his face when Trevor turned to glare at him.

“You supervising?” Trevor growled. “Should’ve known you’d pull an Iris-andMorty.”

“Iris-and…oh!” He laughed. “They moved to the front porch when we switched jobs, did you notice?”

“Maybe they’re afraid we’re going to cut off too much of the porch floor,” Trevor suggested, making Pete laugh again. “After all, this shit-hole house has to be over eighty years old.”

“At least.” After a final stretch, Pete bent to pry the last rotten board off the floor.

“So what’s the next step?” Trevor asked.

Squinting up at him, Pete couldn’t speak for a few moments, his words stolen by the beauty that was Trevor. He was silhouetted against the late afternoon sun, which caught the gold of his hair, lighting a halo around his head. That thought broke the spell and Pete snorted. Trevor was definitely no angel.

“Hello? Pete?” Trevor waved a hand in front of Pete’s face. “You with me?”

Pete shook his head. “What?”

“Guess not.” Trevor sighed with exaggerated patience. “I was asking what’s next, since you’re Mr. Bob Vila.”

With a snort, Pete told him, “I’m more like Red Green.”

“Who?”

“Never mind,” Pete said, refocusing on the newly expanded hole in the porch floor.

“We have to measure and cut the new boards now.”

Trevor grinned. “It’s time for power tools. Nice.”

“I have a better idea,” Pete told him, pressing back a smile. He walked over to the truck and grabbed a small handsaw from the toolbox. Holding it up, he called over to Trevor, “I’m thinking you should start with this. You know, work your way up.”

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“But…” The look on Trevor’s face was so outraged Pete couldn’t hold back a laugh. He moved to put the saw away and when he turned back toward the porch, he started. Trevor was right in front of him.

“Think you’re funny, do you?” Trevor growled, his eyes lit with devilry.

“Yeah,” Pete said, his voice sounding husky to his own ears.

“Bet I can get you to stop laughing.” Taking another step closer so they were toe-totoe, Trevor leaned into Pete, pressing into him from thigh to chest. It worked. Pete stopped laughing. They stared at each other for several seconds, their faces just inches apart.

Trevor’s lips curved in a challenging half-smile. “You’re not so—”

He broke off, his eyes rounding in surprise as Pete whirled them both around and shoved Trevor up against the truck cab. Before he could hide it with a façade of nonchalance, Trevor’s eyes flashed with hunger.

Interesting
, Pete thought. His growing erection thought it was interesting too.

“Getting a little cocky, aren’t you?” Pete asked silkily, sliding his hands down Trevor’s arms and wrapping his fingers around his wrists. Trevor didn’t answer except for a shrug that would’ve seemed nonchalant, except for the bulge of his cock growing against Pete’s crotch.

“Think you’re in charge here?” Pete growled into Trevor’s ear and felt a shiver ripple through the other man. Restraining a triumphant grin, Pete ground his hips against Trevor’s, rubbing their erections together. Denim scratched against denim, and the fabric barrier between their cocks just made his anticipation grow. “Do you?” Pete pressed.

“No,” Trevor all but whispered, his mouth sulky as his gaze dropped to the side. Pete nipped that tempting bottom lip. “Who is in charge?” He felt Trevor’s intake of breath against his own mouth.

“You.” Trevor’s eyes, shy and blue and eager, flashed to his own for a second before dropping again.

Pete caught his breath. “Damn right.” Closing the gap between them, he kissed Trevor, taking over his mouth as if it were his property. Trevor allowed him entrance, eagerly meeting Pete’s tongue with his own.

As they kissed, Trevor twisted and squirmed, forcing Pete to tighten his hold and flatten the other man against the truck. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye and Pete jerked his head up, drawing a protesting noise from Trevor.

“Look,” Pete rasped, nodding at a skinny kid, probably thirteen or so, who stood half-hidden by the trunk of a maple tree in the yard across the street. It took Trevor a few seconds to respond to his command but then he turned his head to look.

“That the Roth?” he asked, low-voiced.

Pete huffed a laugh. “Well, he
is
lurking.”

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“That’s a definite lurk.”

“Dark clothes.”

“That’s a Roth for you.” Trevor nodded seriously.

“And last but definitely not least, he’s in the Swansons’ yard.”

Rounding his eyes comically, Trevor asked with put-on amazement, “Wow. Are you a cop or something?”

“Smartass.” Releasing Trevor’s wrists, Pete took a reluctant step back. “I should go talk to him.”

“Now?” Trevor protested. Glancing down at Pete’s crotch, the corner of his mouth kicked up. “You going all tented out like that?”

Pete followed the path of Trevor’s gaze. “Guess not,” he said wryly. “That’d get me on all sorts of neighborhood watch lists.”

Trevor snorted. “Yeah.” He traced a line down Pete’s bare chest with his fingertip.

“Want to go inside instead?”

“And do what?”

Staring at him, Trevor said, “And play Uno. What d’you think, shit-for-brains?” He slid out from between Pete and the truck and stalked toward the house.

“Trevor?” Pete caught up to him in three strides and grabbed his arm. “What the fuck just happened?”

The fierce glower was back. “Forget it,” Trevor snarled, trying to twist free of his grip.

“Hey,” Pete chided gently, catching his other arm. “Tell me.”

Trevor jerked his chin up and glared at him. “Fine. You need to decide whether I’m a job or a toy and quit jerking me around.”

Pete’s jaw dropped. “I’m not…” He trailed off as he glanced around at the watching neighbors. “Let’s go inside and talk about this, okay?”

“We might as well give Iris and Morty a show,” Trevor told him, pulling his arms out of Pete’s grip and crossing them over his chest. Pete tried not to notice how that position made his biceps bulge.

“No,” Pete told him flatly. “If we’re really going to talk, we’re going inside. There are things the neighbors shouldn’t hear.”

Trevor glowered for a few moments, then spun around and stalked into the house, Pete following close behind.

Once inside, they were both silent.

“We need a fucking couch,” Trevor finally muttered.

Pete ignored that. “It
is
my job to watch over you.”

“Fine,” Trevor snapped. “So how does that translate to having a hand down my shorts?”

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The words hit Pete hard, snapping his head back. “W-what the fuck does that mean?” he demanded. “Are you saying I used my p-position to coerce you? That you don’t want me t-t-touching you?”

“No!” Trevor burst out. “I didn’t mean that. I just…” He broke off, shaking his head. “I just want to know what you
want
from me.”

Everything.
Pete clamped his molars so he didn’t shout the thought out loud.

“Just tell me what you want,” Trevor said, quieter now. “I can’t set myself up for something just to have it ripped away.”

“I-I-I…”
Fuck.
Pete closed his eyes. He’d forgotten how much he hated the helpless feeling when the words just wouldn’t come. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “I want to keep you safe.” There it was, every word stutter-free. Enormously grateful, Pete took another breath for the next sentence but Trevor spoke first.

“Okay, got it,” he said tightly. “You’re the cop and I’m the fucking victim. Let’s just leave it at that then.” Trevor ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Choking on the words he hadn’t said, Pete watched him go. 50

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Chapter Five

Pete raised his hand to knock on the bedroom door and then lowered it. He raised it again, hesitated, and then pulled his hand back. As he raised it a third time, the door jerked open in front of him.

“What?” Trevor demanded. “You’ve been standing there for ten minutes. I could hear you breathing.”

“Sorry,” Pete said. “Um, we should probably head over to the barbeque soon.”