Safe House Read online

  “Brandon Smith?”

  “Yes. Do you have the test results?”

  “Please hold a moment while I connect you with the doctor.”

  Brandon paced the small bathroom and worked on controlling his breathing. It seemed like the only thing he had any control over lately. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long before the doctor said hello.

  “I won’t keep you in suspense. The biopsy was negative. We want to keep an eye on things, but there’s nothing cancerous. Make an appointment to come back in six months, okay? Given your family history, we’ll want to retest, but remember what I told you about mature breast tissue being more prone to texture changes. That you have experienced a change doesn’t mean it will continue to progress. For now, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you have any questions?”

  “No. Thanks. I should be getting to work.”

  “If you think of anything, just call.”

  The line went dead, and Brandon leaned against the door for a few seconds. He hadn’t expected to feel light-headed if the results were negative. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected the results to be negative—he was almost the same age his father had been when he died, and that had seemed particularly significant. He took a slow deep breath, and then he smiled and left to catch a ride to work with Dave.

  Chapter Three

  KYLE STOOD at the dining room window looking out at Buchanan House’s backyard, a party going on behind him. The gazebo stood empty. It was too cold to work out there in February, even with the unseasonably warm day they’d just enjoyed.

  Maybe enjoyed is too strong a word for a funeral and an ill-fated fix-up?

  He knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would drag him back to the party, but he’d stay on the fringes as long as possible. Maybe it would be long enough to figure out why he couldn’t stop thinking about Brandon Smith. He might be a nice guy, but Kyle couldn’t see any reason to be fixated on the man, even without taking into account that he had voluntarily chosen a career in law enforcement. For all Kyle knew, Brandon had never racially profiled anyone.

  Maybe I’m developing a kink? From now on I’ll be attracted to men who trip my fight-or-flight response? Maybe even guys who actually scare me?

  Kyle swirled his drink—a Queered New-Fashioned was what Eric called it—in his glass, watching the pink liquid and trying to figure out where the aroma of cherries came from, until a hand closed on his shoulder. He knew who it was without looking but turned anyway. Derek’s smile could always pull Kyle out of a mood, and this night was no exception.

  “What’re you doing over here by yourself?” Derek hugged an arm around Kyle’s shoulders and pecked him on the cheek. “You know this is your Cinderella ball. What’re you waiting for? Get out there and check out these princes.”

  Kyle couldn’t help himself, returning Derek’s grin. He could keep from leaning against him or resting his head on Derek’s shoulder, though, so he did. No sense in getting all worked up for nothing. Not that he had feelings for Derek—not beyond missing his best friend and wishing they still lived in the same zip code—but they’d had a good time together, and it had been a while since Kyle could say he’d done that. With anyone.

  Derek gently steered Kyle to face the room. The muscles in Derek’s arm pressed against Kyle’s back, and for no reason that made him think of Brandon. The two men couldn’t be more different—Derek’s slender dark frame didn’t seem anything like the short, stocky redneck he’d shaken hands with earlier that day.

  Whoa, now who’s doing the profiling?

  Kyle shook himself in a futile effort to clear his head. Derek chuckled softly and started them walking toward the center of the party. After a few steps, he gave Kyle a gentle push, and while Kyle continued deeper into the room, Derek stayed behind. The whole thing reminded Kyle of learning to ride his bicycle when he was a little boy. Which, naturally, made him think of his father.

  Perfect prelude to a hookup.

  He rolled his eyes at himself—internally, since he’d made it close enough to the gathering to be noticed—and made a mental note to give his father a call when he got back to Portland. It had been a while, so it could be different than last time. They might be able to find a way to enjoy each other’s company.

  A tall blond with a sunburned nose approached Kyle, chasing thoughts of his father away in a heartbeat. They exchanged a few short moments of small talk before the blond asked if Kyle had a room there, at the camp.

  “Yes.” Kyle’s body started to react to the nearness of the guy, who’d said his name was Jerry or Johnny…. I’m horrible at this.

  “Is it upstairs?”

  “It is.” Kyle raised one eyebrow so he wouldn’t have to ask why that mattered. It had been so long since he’d hooked up—almost eight months—and he felt like a rookie compared to Joey.

  “Why don’t we step out onto the back porch and see where the tide is?” Joey’s grin made it an inside joke. Since it obviously promised a happy ending, a physical one anyway, Kyle shrugged and said okay.

  As soon as they made it out the door, he wished he had a jacket. The wind had picked up since the sun went down, and it was too cold to even consider losing any clothing out there. Kyle’s hand, holding his half-full glass of gin and… whatever it was, started to shake from the chill.

  Joey took a few steps away but came back when Kyle didn’t follow. He’d meant to, but the combination of alcohol and cold slowed his reflexes.

  “Cold?” Something in Joey’s grin made Kyle want to go back inside, but then he rested a warm hand on Kyle’s shoulder and squeezed.

  I’m imagining things. Trying to talk myself out of this.

  Kyle shook his head at himself and then chuckled softly. “Yes.”

  “We can go up the back way. It’s a shortcut.” Joey winked. When he started walking again, Kyle kept pace. “It takes longer to go through the house and up the main stairs. And there are more distractions along the way.”

  They came to the north end of the back porch that led up to the second floor. Kyle was in room eight—a room reserved for friends because of the hidden staircase in the bathroom—so they had to walk the entire length of the building to get there. For a second, Kyle was afraid his key wouldn’t work and they’d have to go back down. The keys at Buchanan House were the old-fashioned kind, actual keys and not key cards, and he held his breath as he slipped his into the lock. Maybe it was silly, but the smooth click of the lock giving way sounded like a good omen. Stranger things had happened than for a hookup to lead to something more.

  Joey cut off Kyle’s musings by hustling them through the door as soon as it was open.

  He’s cold too.

  “So this is room eight.” Joey walked past the daybed and almost to the fireplace, looking around as though he’d never been in one of the rooms before. “From what I’ve heard, I expected it to be different than the others.”

  “Oh? What have you heard?” Kyle lifted Joey’s drink from his hand and put both glasses on the mantel. When he turned back around, he took a second to appreciate the view. Joey stood beside the window, the lights from the garden highlighting his cheekbones and catching in his hair.

  Joey laughed, maybe a little nervously, and stepped back until he leaned against the wall. He wore a tight sweater that appeared to be cashmere, and the light from outside caressed his side and chest, illuminating the end result of hours spent at a gym. “Guys have been known to come out and knock on the back doors. Sometimes the occupants open them, and sometimes they don’t. But nobody knocks on the last door.”

  For a few heartbeats, Kyle considered asking another question or two. He moved closer to Joey, though, and felt a little heat from his body, smelling the hint of cherries that said he’d had a New-Fashioned as well. Learning more about the habits of the locals didn’t seem as important as what they’d left the party to do. Kyle reached out and traced his hand from Joey’s shoulder down his arm.
>
  Cashmere. Muscles. Man. Yes.

  Joey’s face relaxed into a smile, and he rested a hand on Kyle’s waist.

  Kyle moved even closer, barely pressing their erections together through their pants, and shuddered, both hands moving to Joey’s chest. The combination of hard body and soft sweater captured all of Kyle’s attention for what seemed like a long time but had to be only a few seconds at most. Kyle shifted his gaze to Joey’s full lips, licking his own in anticipation as he leaned in for a kiss. He was surprised when Joey pushed down on his shoulders with both hands, turning his face away at the same time. The face turning was subtle but sent a clear message—one Kyle didn’t want to understand.

  He also didn’t want to be an asshole, so that left him with one course of action. Kyle caressed Joey’s chest and leaned in a little closer. When he opened his mouth, Joey pushed on his shoulders again.

  “Something wrong?” Kyle felt prickles of disappointment down his back.

  Joey shook his head and pushed again.

  Kyle smiled despite his confusion. Must’ve gotten a wire crossed somewhere. And then it hit him that maybe he’d misunderstood Joey’s intentions completely. “This isn’t a business transaction. It’s a hookup.” He could’ve smacked himself when his voice lifted slightly at the ends of both sentences, almost turning statements into questions.

  “I don’t kiss hookups.” Joey shrugged and grinned. The boyish gesture had the opposite effect on his face, making him seem older and more jaded.

  Strange attitude, but whatever. “Well, I do. It’s—the whole thing just feels too impersonal otherwise.”

  Joey’s hands tightened on Kyle’s shoulders. Not exactly a sexy gesture, but Kyle was still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Considering where we’re planning to put our mouths, I don’t think a kiss is too much to expect.”

  “I’m not putting my mouth anywhere.” Joey widened his stance and pushed harder.

  Kyle wasn’t ready for it, and he went down to one knee. He looked up, too shocked to answer or move, until Joey grabbed a handful of his hair. Joey’s other hand had started to work on his fly before Kyle could gather himself enough to do anything more than gape up at the guy who’d seemed, if not nice, at least decent.

  “Stop right there. You won’t need to open those pants.”

  Joey’s eyes narrowed. Kyle stood and pushed Joey’s hand away before he could tighten his fingers in Kyle’s hair. If he’d planned to. Which might be as crazy a thought as he hoped it was.

  “I think we’re done here.” Kyle gestured toward the back door. After a moment of glaring, Joey stood away from the wall, fastened the button on his slacks and smoothed his sweater down over his ripped stomach, and then stepped toward Kyle. Kyle kept from flinching away, but it was a close one. Thankfully, that ticked him off instead of feeding any irrational fear, so when Joey started across the room to the main door, Kyle stopped him with a hand in the center of his chest. “You can go out the way you came in.”

  The camp house was full of people—a person would have to be a psychopath to do anything violent in a situation like that. Still, Kyle froze for the long moment it took for Joey to decide to go out the back door.

  Kyle locked the door and listened to Joey stomp away across the back porch. Once those footsteps faded enough so he figured Joey had reached the stairs, Kyle sat on the daybed and dropped his face into his hands, groaning out loud.

  Still an asshole magnet. I should know better at my age.

  It took a few minutes, but he pulled himself together, splashed water on his face, and went back downstairs to rejoin the party. He used the hidden stairs, the ones that started in the bathroom of room eight and ended in the kitchen, to give himself time. And also to leave the two glasses in the dishwasher before getting a fresh drink. One of the strategies Eric and Nathan had decided to employ to keep their guests from getting too drunk was to keep the booze in the kitchen, bringing the drinks out in pitchers or occasionally a tray of Jell-O shots. Kyle helped himself to a quick shot of tequila before heading out into the dining room in search of another Queered New-Fashioned from the pitcher.

  Derek’s raised eyebrow as he poured told Kyle there would be questions later, but there was always the chance he’d forget. Kyle thanked him and turned away, toward the party in the main room, and wished he’d headed back upstairs after downing his shot. Brandon Smith was dancing on the far side of the room, with a handsome man who was obviously interested in more than the music.

  The weekend hasn’t even started yet, and already I’ve thought about running back to Portland twice and about fucking two men, neither of whom are The One.

  A pink feather boa dropped across his shoulders from behind. A little off-balance, Kyle turned to see Nathan’s smiling face. “Why are you all by your lonesome? Dance with me while you answer that.”

  Nathan took the ends of his boa in one hand and gently tugged Kyle to a relatively clear area of the floor, sashaying his hips as he went. “Well?”

  Kyle started dancing, sort of. Experience told him that he would whether he wanted to or not, so it was best to just go along with Nathan from the start. “I went to a funeral today, remember. It didn’t exactly put me in a party frame of mind.”

  I should be ashamed of myself for lying like that. I haven’t been in a party frame of mind for a long time.

  Nathan’s feet froze for a second, his expression growing worried. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Kyle waved away the idea that he wasn’t, and Nathan resumed dancing.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how it might make you feel, honey. I could’ve gone with Paulie.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay, really.” Kyle’s next few steps weren’t exactly sexy dance moves, more like tilting off-balance. I’ve had enough if I can’t even dance straight. Can’t be that I’m just a klutz.

  Brandon Smith took that moment to lead the man he’d been dancing with out of the party. He crossed the room behind Nathan and he—they—slipped out the front door into the night. The sight must’ve affected Kyle more than he’d realized, or he’d staggered again while tracking Bran to the door, because seconds later he found himself in Nathan’s embrace. Nathan squeezed him and murmured something about being sorry, then led Kyle into the kitchen. They sat on stools for a while nibbling on crostini with kale and cheddar cheese and another of Eric’s clever names, and Nathan chatted to him about their plans for the next year at Buchanan House.

  It might have annoyed Kyle to be treated like a fragile flower on another night, but he was just happy Nathan wasn’t expecting him to do anything more than sit and listen.

  Chapter Four

  BRANDON DIDN’T mind working the late afternoon shift after the funeral—usually he didn’t mind working any or all the shifts, and the more the better. But things would be different now. He had just gotten a clean bill of health and would maybe even get two whole days off in a row starting tomorrow. The folks who worked nine-to-five jobs had been off work for a few hours, the letting off of steam well underway, and Brandon meant to join them. The search for “someone nice” had never quite panned out—and had been summarily abandoned as soon as his conversation with the doctor ended. A part of him that he was working to ignore still wanted to find someone, his other half, but he pushed the thought away. The search for “someone for tonight” might be just the thing to take his mind off his health and the old man he kept seeing in the mirror lately, and anything else that came up between now and then. Hopefully he would find a long string of those Mr. Tonights, starting within the next few hours. He’d always been better at that anyway—the hookup, the short-term fling. With one notable exception.

  But Tim was married—happily so—and even if he weren’t, that would never happen again. Brandon still cringed inside when he remembered the events leading to their loud and messy breakup. In the hospital, of all places, a few days after Tim had regained consciousness after getting beaned with a line drive d
uring a softball game. He cringed at the thought of Tim’s anger on learning he’d been outed to his family and the hospital staff while unconscious, and Brandon still felt queasy whenever he thought about the incident itself. Tim had been stealing third when the ball connected with the side of his head. He had gone down like a sack of grain and hadn’t done so much as twitch for five days afterward. For three years running, Tim had led the team in stolen bases—it was a beautiful thing, watching him play—but he’d had the bad habit of “forgetting” to keep a helmet on past first base. He’d almost been booted from the team more than once for doing that, but Brandon had smoothed things over with the league officials. Because Brandon had been in love with him and unable to risk ruining that by insisting he do… well, anything he didn’t want to, Tim was almost killed by a softball. That would probably always hurt.

  As it should, asshat.

  Brandon wished he had planned ahead and brought a change of clothes with him to the station. All he had in his locker were a wrinkled pair of jeans and a flannel that smelled a little musty. A perfect illustration of my social life. The night ahead demanded something more, so he closed the locker door and headed for the parking lot.

  When Dave stood and caught Brandon’s eye, his stomach threatened to plummet into his boots. It’s not a holiday weekend, so nothing better have happened to keep me here.

  “I’m taking another shift. I can run you home if you want.”

  Clearly he’d rather not, and Brandon wasn’t in the mood to listen to Dave sighing all the way back to the apartment. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, Dave.”

  Brandon practically jogged out the door and set off in the direction of home. Halfway there, he realized he was planning the night out in excruciating detail and stopped. Literally. He stood on the sidewalk and reminded himself why that was bad, why he needed to relax and stop overthinking his every move when it came to men. Mainly because that hadn’t worked. Brandon was single and most of the time dateless—even though at forty-nine the word date sounded juvenile and depressing. He’d been told more than once that he was just too intense, too intimidating. Judging by Kyle’s reaction to seeing him at the funeral, Bran decided if he had to plan something—and he usually had to plan everything—it would be how he could stop appearing so intimidating. Maybe if he could pull that off, he could attract the kind of attention he wanted from someone like Kyle—maybe even the man himself, the tall slender man with sultry dark eyes whom he couldn’t stop thinking about.