Hide Out (3 page)

“Good?” Pete asked. When Trevor nodded, Pete meant to step back—he really did. Instead, he froze when he realized how close they were standing. Trevor’s arm flexed beneath Pete’s grip.

Biting his bottom lip, Trevor tipped his head closer to Pete’s. “Think we should let the neighbors know we’re a couple?” he murmured.

“What?” Pete looked around. They were being watched. An elderly couple walked slowly on the sidewalk in front of Pete’s house and a middle-aged man mowed the lawn across the street with his eyes fixed on Pete and Trevor. There was also a young woman pretending to trim her hedges next door, although her clippers just closed on air as she stared at the drama on the porch.

“Want to give them a show?” Trevor asked, leaning even closer. Pete froze.

“It’ll save having to make explanations over and over…” By the time his words trailed off, Trevor’s mouth was almost touching Pete’s, his breath brushing his lips. He knew. Somehow, Trevor knew.
And he’s mocking me.
Pete saw red. He stiffened and spun Trevor around, slamming him up against the house. Trevor’s eyes went huge as he stared at Pete, who leaned in as close as Trevor had been to him just a second before.

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“Listen to me,” Pete clipped out, his voice quiet and as hard as ice. “I am here to do a job. I will keep you safe but you will
not
fuck with me. You got it?” When Trevor just stared at him and swallowed, Pete gave him a small shake. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” Trevor muttered, dropping his gaze.

“Good.” Pete released him and stepped back, watching as Trevor grabbed his suitcase and yanked open the screen door. He disappeared into the house, easing the door closed behind him so it didn’t slam. It just closed with a small click. Pete stared at the door for a long time, both guilt and anger burning in his gut. 15

Katie Allen

Chapter Two

Shit!
Trevor blew out a breath, leaning against the wall of one of the upstairs bedrooms. His heart was beating fast and hard, and it wasn’t because he was scared. He was pissed off but not at Pete. He was mad at himself for being so turned-on. With a quiet groan, he covered his eyes with his hand. The Boy Scout was mouthwatering when he was all quiet and mild-mannered, but that show of force had weakened Trevor’s knees and turned his brain to mush. He knew he was in trouble the minute his bodyguard-to-be stepped into the lieutenant’s office, six-plus feet of squarejawed, tight-assed, uniformed cop. Trevor dropped his hand and walked to the window, staring out into the backyard where a sprawling tree reached its branches toward him. He’d always been a sucker for cops, especially big, muscle-bound cops who could shove him up against a wall and make him behave.

Gotta stop thinking about this
, he told himself, adjusting his fly. Just the image of Pete manhandling him was enough to make his cock begin to swell.

“Trevor.”

He whipped around, jerking his hand away from his crotch. Pete was standing in the doorway holding a rolled sleeping bag. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Trevor plastered a disinterested look on his face.

Pete’s jaw muscles worked for a few seconds of silence. “Listen,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have…” He paused and started again. “I know you’re in a shitty situation and the condition of this place doesn’t help. I probably should’ve rented somewhere furnished. I just,” he ran a hand down the trim around the doorframe, “really like this house.”

Fuck.
Trevor had to close his eyes for a moment, the tender slide of the other man’s hand across the wood and that caressing note in his voice slipping beneath Trevor’s skin and making him shiver.
Fuck
, he thought again.
After just a few hours, this guy has me
in pieces.

Forcing his eyes open, Trevor managed a shrug as he cleared his throat. “It’s okay,”

he muttered, glancing around the room. Looking at Pete was too dangerous for his peace of mind. “It’s a shithole but it’s kind of a cool shithole. Better than the cardboard look-alike crap they build now.” He couldn’t help it—his eyes flashed to Pete’s. Trevor instantly regretted it. The way Pete’s face lit up made his lungs contract.

“It really is,” Pete enthused, taking a few steps into the room. “And it
is
solid—well, except for the deathtrap of a porch. A bunch of those boards’ll have to be replaced. Hopefully the floor joists aren’t rotting.”

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Hide Out

“You could keep the porch like it is,” Trevor suggested, feeling a smile tug on the corners of his mouth. Pete’s excitement was contagious. “Get rid of a few unwanted visitors.”

Pete laughed. “Put a few crocodiles under there and we could finish them off for good.”

With a snort, Trevor told him, “If you’re going to do that, might as well just dig a fucking moat.”

“Hmm…” Pete tipped his head to the side as if considering the idea. “We could stock it with trout. Have our own fishing moat.”

Trevor shook his head, smiling. “Is that for me?” he asked, nodding at the sleeping bag.

Pete looked down as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Right,” he said, offering it to Trevor. “We’ll go shopping for furniture eventually but this’ll have to do for now.”

“That’s fine.” Trevor accepted the sleeping bag. “Thanks,” he added belatedly.

“Shopping? Why not just load up all your furniture and drag it down here?”

“No one except McDonald and Salas knows you’re with me,” Pete explained, “but I still didn’t want to make anyone curious—or give them a big-ass moving truck to follow. Besides, most of my furniture is crap.”

“Oh.” Tossing the sleeping bag to the floor, Trevor shifted his weight, still not comfortable meeting the other man’s eyes.

“Hungry?”

That brought Trevor’s head up. “Fuck yeah.”

With a grin, Pete shifted back and gestured at the doorway. “Let’s go then.”

Pete wasn’t trying to watch Trevor’s ass as they descended the stairs but his gaze just kept returning to the tight, jean-clad cheeks in front of him.

“Shit,” Trevor muttered as they reached the bottom and Pete jerked his head up guiltily. “I should’ve helped unload the pickup.”

“Nah,” Pete said after clearing his throat. “It was just a few boxes.” He slanted a teasing look toward Trevor. “You want to help? You can unpack them.”

Trevor gave him a sideways smile. “You bring food?”

Shaking his head, Pete said, “Thought we could go out, check out the town.”

“Check out the town?” Trevor mocked. “Woo. That’ll take five minutes.”

“Smartass.” Raising a hand, Pete gently smacked the back of the other man’s head.

“Watch it,” Trevor growled, although a smile touched his lips.

* * * * *

They quickly discovered they had two choices—a local diner or a fast-food chain. 17

Katie Allen

“Should we take a risk and eat at Mallory’s?” Pete suggested.

“Sure, wherever.” Trevor shrugged. “Let’s just eat some food before I start eating my own fist.”

Although a comeback hung on his tongue about exactly what body part of Trevor’s he would like to eat, Pete swallowed it back. If he didn’t allow Trevor to mess around, Pete shouldn’t get to either. Swinging the truck into a space, he shoved the gearshift into park with more emphasis than it really needed.

He was reaching for his door handle when Trevor stopped him.

“Wait,” Trevor said, his teeth worrying his bottom lip again.

“Yeah?” Pete’s voice was gruffer than he’d intended. It was just the sight of Trevor’s full mouth, the way the tip of his tongue touched the temporary indentations left in his lip by his teeth… Restraining a groan, Pete forced his gaze to Trevor’s eyes.

“What are we…?” Breaking off, Trevor dipped his head.

“Go ahead,” Pete told him.

“How…um, how should I
act
?”

“Act?”

“With you,” Trevor elaborated. “When I tried, you know, getting into character before, you weren’t too happy. I guess I’m wondering
how
you want me to pretend I’m your boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Pete blinked. He seriously had no idea. He’d never had an actual live-in boyfriend before. “Figured you were fucking with me before.”

Dropping his eyes to the side, Trevor admitted, “Yeah, guess I kinda was. Not to be mean or anything though. Just…teasing.”

Another wash of guilt flowed over Pete. He’d been so quick to assume Trevor knew, that he was all but calling Pete queer right to his face, when all Trevor had intended was to joke around.

“So…?” Trevor prompted, bringing Pete back to the conversation.

“How should I know?” Pete asked testily. He hated feeling guilty. Trevor rolled his eyes. “You went to cop school—weren’t there some kind of undercover acting lessons or something?”

“Undercover acting lessons?” Pete stared at him.

“I don’t know!” Now Trevor was the one who sounded annoyed. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

I bet you would.
Pete felt his skin flush with desire. “Fine,” he snapped, trying to cover. “Just take your cues from me.” Yanking the door open, he climbed out onto shaking legs and strode to the front of the pickup.

Pete stopped and waited for Trevor, who approached warily.

“Don’t worry,” Pete told him. “We’re not going to make out or anything. This is a small town. Just…act like we’re friends.”

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Hide Out

Trevor looked at him, his expression serious. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Pete headed toward the door.

A bell jangled as they entered. Pete stopped just inside the door to look around. The diner was worn around the edges but clean and cheery. The day’s special—beef brisket—was handwritten on a whiteboard propped on an easel. Three older men were clustered around a table with coffee and plates of half-eaten pieces of pie in front of them. A young couple sat a few tables down and a dark-haired waitress was clearing their dishes.

Everyone was staring at them. Even the young cook peered out from the kitchen, her eyes wide and curious. Pete moved toward an empty table at the back, glancing behind him to make sure Trevor was following. He needn’t have worried—if Trevor had been any closer, he would’ve been plastered against Pete’s back. Trevor was scowling as fiercely as the first time Pete had seen him in the lieutenant’s office. The silence from the customers made the piped-in music seem uncomfortably loud as they made their way through the diner. Pete sat with his back to the far wall, where he had a view of the entire place.

Glancing at Trevor, Pete said, “Sit down.”

Trevor still hesitated, glancing at the chair next to Pete before dropping into the one opposite him. Low-voiced conversations started up at the other two tables.

“I hate small towns,” Trevor muttered, barely loud enough for Pete to hear him. With a grimace of sympathy, Pete reached over and squeezed Trevor’s forearm.

“They’ll get used to us,” he said as he sat back in his chair, not allowing his fingers to linger.

Trevor gave a disbelieving grunt and slouched down in his chair. The move shoved his feet farther under the table until one bumped into Pete’s.

“Good morning!” the waitress greeted them cheerily. “Did you gentlemen need a menu or will you be having the brisket today?”

“Brisket, please,” Pete requested.

“Brisket,” Trevor ordered as well and Pete nudged the other man’s foot with his own. “Please,” Trevor added, giving Pete a mocking look.

“Good choice.” The waitress nodded. “Good thing you got in here early. Once the Saturday lunch crowd hits, the special sells out like
that
.” She snapped her fingers.

“Good thing then,” Pete responded politely as Trevor’s expression grew even more morose.

As the waitress headed back toward the other couple’s table, Trevor sighed heavily.

“We could be in San Diego right now. Or New York. Or Atlanta. Anywhere except Honey-fucking-suckle.”

“But then we wouldn’t be getting brisket,” Pete told him, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

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Katie Allen

Trevor groaned. “Brisket. Yay. The girl in the kitchen looked about twelve. Think she knows how to cook?”

With a shrug, Pete said, “Dunno. We’ll find out, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Trevor played with his napkin-wrapped silverware, a sulky twist to his mouth. Pete tried not to fixate on that full bottom lip.

“So what’d you do?” Pete finally asked out of desperation, needing some distraction from Trevor’s mouth.

“What?”

“Before McDonald and Salas ran you down. What’d you do?”

Trevor glanced around. “Should we be talking about this?”

“No one can hear,” Pete told him with a shrug. “Why not?”

Although he didn’t look convinced, Trevor eventually answered, “I was working for a couple of P.I.s. Before that, I was a bouncer.”

Pete nodded. “How did they find you?”

Grimacing, Trevor said, “It was so stupid. My prints were on a crime scene—one I helped solve—and the cops took mine to rule me out. When they ran the prints, McDonald and Salas came running.”

“Yeah?” Pete leaned forward, interested. “What crime?”

“The owner of the club where I worked as a bouncer was selling kids out of the basement. The two guys investigating asked me to help.” Although he tried for nonchalance, Trevor’s eyes lit with excitement.

“Those two guys are the ones you work for now?” Pete asked.

“Yeah.” His excitement dimmed a little. “
Worked
for, probably. We’ll see if I can get the job back after the trial.” Trevor stared down at his hands, flat on the table. “If I live that long.”

“Hey! Don’t be an idiot.” Pete covered one of Trevor’s hands with his. “You’ll live. I promise.”

His head down, Trevor turned his hand over so they were palm to palm. “Sure you’re up to it?” he asked quietly. “Daddy dearest is a real asshole.”

“I’m a bigger asshole,” Pete growled, making Trevor laugh.

“Here’s a couple glasses of— Oh!” The waitress paused, a water glass held in midair and her gaze fixed on the men’s hands. Trevor yanked his away, scowling. With a shake of her head, the waitress put the water in front of Pete and reached for the second glass on her tray.