No Pressure

by Elle Keaton

  Andre was a psychopath. He exuded a crazy calm. Sane on the outside, crazy on the inside. The man’s icy blue eyes held no emotion. Even in supposed grief for his fallen comrade, his expression never changed. When he glared at Joey, Joey knew he was being judged and sentenced for his looks and sexuality. He never wanted to be left alone with the man. Andre seemed like the type who was revolted by homosexuality yet would have no compunction about sexually assaulting another man.

  The woods behind the gloomy house were eerily quiet while the three men carried the shrouded body along a faint path. Joey was experienced at lifting and moving bodies much heavier than himself, but carrying a dead weight was entirely different. The patient had been a big man, at least two hundred pounds, and in death he seemed to weigh much more. With Andre at the head, Sacha at the feet, and Joey somewhere in the middle trying to keep the shroud on while also carrying a shovel, Joey’s life flashed before his eyes.

  After about fifteen minutes they were all dripping with sweat and breathing hard. They stopped in a somewhat open space, a lighter area between the evergreens where the brush was a little less dense and the blackberry bramble didn’t look like it would swallow a man whole.

  “Here.” Andre pointed. Joey looked where the man was indicating. There was no way he would be able to penetrate that vegetation, much less dig a hole big enough to hide a body. He looked at Sacha. Sacha had put his end of the body down and was standing and contemplating his surroundings, but he didn’t argue with Andre’s directive. Taking the shovel from Joey, he stepped off the path and began clearing a small patch of earth.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Andre sneered at Joey. “Show us you can be useful.”

  Joey did the best he could, tugging and pushing the branches, brambles, and other vegetation aside while trying to avoid the razor-sharp thorns and hoping there were no stinging nettles. The damn things were a bitch to deal with. When he’d been little, his brother had convinced him that the best solution to nettles was tree sap. His mom hadn’t been too pleased with either of them. Joey for falling into them in the first place; Michael, over two decades older than him, for being an asshole. Pretty much summed up their relationship.

  “Good. Stop now,” Andre ordered.

  Once the body was dragged into the makeshift grave and re-covered with soil, brambles, and anything else within reach, Andre moved closer. Sacha motioned Joey to stand back with him. Andre spoke over the grave in his mother tongue; it was difficult to tell whether he was grieving or angry with the dead man. Maybe both. Joey could understand that.

  Sacha leaned over to whisper in his ear, “You follow my instructions. No fucking questions.” Joey wasn’t sure which surprised him more: the warning or the fact that Sacha’s accent had disappeared. What the hell was he mixed up in?

  Well, obviously, he was mixed up with something bad, what with dead bodies, caged teenagers, and terrifying men popping up all over the place. Joey let out a giggle, and Sacha glared at him with an incredulous expression.

  If he didn’t laugh he was going to cry. Clapping a hand over his mouth so as not to let another giggle escape, Joey fell in line behind Sacha and Andre as rain began to fall.

  Back at the house the two men began to argue. Joey couldn’t understand them, but the hand-waving indicated it was about him. It occurred to him that maybe it hadn’t been such a great thing that Sacha had never covered his eyes when he had taken him to the sick teens; that Joey knew the addresses of the two houses. That he knew where the body was. He may have been more of a Disney guy, but he knew the reality of the situation: he knew too much.

  It was more than a little surreal when, finally, Andre stomped back into the rundown house and Sacha grabbed Joey by the shoulder and forced him to Buck’s car. What had Buck called it? Sheila. Sacha wrenched the door open and manhandled Joey into the driver’s seat.

  “Hey, if I’d known you were into kinky stuff—”

  Sacha cut him off with a menacing gesture. “Do not fuck around with me. Do not say anything about what happened here today if you value your life, your family’s lives, or your boyfriend’s. Forget everything.”

  “Wait. What about those kids? What’s going to happen to them?” Joey blurted out.

  Sacha groaned. “Jesus Christ.” He reached into the car and grabbed Joey’s face between his large hands. “If. You. Value. Your life. Do you understand?” His voice was rough with frustration and probably exhaustion; he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His face was hollow with fatigue and he had deep lines at the edges of his mouth and eyes.

  “But wha—”

  “Not one more fucking question or I will let Andre finish you off like he wants. Leave now, goddammit.” Sacha slammed his fist onto the roof of the car, waiting impatiently while Joey started the engine and turned Sheila around so he could get back onto the roadway.

  Okay. What the ever-loving hell was going on? And forget? Who did Sacha think he was? Who the hell was Sacha? Did he honestly believe that after taking Joey to those kids Joey was just going to forget about them? There was a reason Joey was a medical professional, and it wasn’t because he was a heartless bastard. The weather may have warmed up a degree or two, but it was still cold and damp. If the kids were still in that building they were cold, damp, and miserable. Still sick. And afraid. Sacha, whoever the hell he was, could order Joey around all he liked, but Joey didn’t have to listen.

  Joey’d gunned Sheila’s guttural engine along the deserted roads of the Skagit Valley flatlands, headlights briefly illuminating dark houses, pastures, and stands of evergreens along the way. So many thoughts crowded his head. He’d managed to get to his mom’s in record time, and then spent far too much time trying to cover up his darn black eye.

  Joey woke earlier than he expected on New Year’s Day. He rolled over and glanced at the digital clock that had lived in his room since time immemorial, or at least before he had moved upstairs. Eight a.m. Turning onto his back again, he contemplated the ceiling for several minutes. He needed to plan his day out very carefully. If he was going to find a way to check on the teens, he needed to be sneaky about it. And he needed a car, which meant he had to ask Buck if he could borrow Sheila again.

  Buck, who he was going to see for breakfast. Buck, who he had spent the evening with. Buck, who made his stomach flutter and his heart rate speed up.

  What was he thinking? Joey’s history of boyfriends covered the spectrum from indifferent to bad. All that time out in the dating world looking for his man, his prince, and all he’d found were frogs. Not even frogs; worse, poisonous toads.

  Surely he was reading too much into their interactions. After all that time living in Seattle searching for Mr. Right, he wouldn’t find him in Skagit. That was a certainty. Joey needed to remind himself of all the times he had thought he’d found “the one,” only to have his heart and hopes crushed again and again. It must have been the shock of the day. Add a couple glasses of wine and, well, that explained everything.

  That was one of the reasons he had moved home. He had decided he was done looking. No more dates; no more shitty, cheating, lying boyfriends. Skagit was safe because there was no one here who tempted him. And that was how things needed to stay. He’d go out for breakfast and then gently let Buck go on his way.

  Now that he considered it, he might need to wait until after he returned Sheila. Crud, that was shitty of him, but he needed to borrow Sheila to figure out exactly which warehouse those kids were being kept in. Dammit.

  There was a tap on his mom’s front door exactly when the old clock on the mantel was chiming nine. Joey peeked through the curtains to see Buck standing there looking sweet and sexy. Wow. He was freshly showered, his dirty-blond hair damp and tousled, lying against the collar of his jacket. Tan cargo pants paired with a beautiful cream cable-knit sweater and leather work boots; the man looked good enough to eat.

  Joey had to remind himself he had a plan. The plan did not involve Buck Swanfeldt.

  “Hey.” Buck
smiled at him, and his laugh lines crinkled. Crap on a stick, why was Joey’s brain trying to ambush him?

  “Hey there. Just a sec, lemme grab Xena’s leash, okay?”

  Xena danced in excitement, making it difficult for Joey to get her leash snapped onto her collar. Buck bent down and grabbed her collar so Joey could wrangle his dog, bringing their faces close together. Joey could see little shocks of gray and silver in Buck’s irises, comets streaking through their own atmosphere.

  “I’d like to kiss you again,” Buck said.

  All Joey had to do was move his head slightly and their lips met, caressed, tentatively tasted. Joey’s plans flew out the window. Of their own volition, his hands came up to cup Buck’s face, his cheeks smooth from recently shaving. Buck’s hand moved to rest on his ass, prompting Joey to press his hips into Buck’s and feel the other man’s erection against his own. He could have stood there all day feeling safe and cherished in Buck’s embrace, except he heard a distinct thump. Being caught kissing by his mother once was enough. He broke away, smiling at the dazed expression on Buck’s handsome face.

  “Let’s get out of here; my mom is awake.” Comprehension dawned and Buck grabbed Xena’s leash and bolted down the front steps like the hounds of hell were close on his heels. Joey couldn’t help but chuckle. Note to self: Buck was adorable, and Joey was in serious trouble.

  They went to breakfast at a cute little mom-and-pop diner in a storefront that had been open since the 1950s. Patty’s had originally been a five-and-dime. Over the years, dining had been added without the stands of paperbacks, cards, or seasonal toys being removed. There were mannequins, some headless, some with no torso, plopped around the diner. It was weird, but popular with locals. Joey figured most tourists were put off by the haphazard interior. Good. Thank goodness it wasn’t too cold today; they left Xena happily curled up in Sheila on a blanket Buck had brought.

  “You’re just a big softy, aren’t you?” Joey teased as they sat down at one of the two-top tables toward the back, next to a rack of trashy novels and in front of an area with random first-aid supplies. Joey wasn’t sure how old they were, but most of the boxes looked like antiques.

  Buck smiled shyly. “I guess.” Joey saw his cheeks redden as he focused on the menu laminated to the tabletop. “What are you going to get? I am really hungry.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Joey could not stop the innuendo from slipping out, what was wrong with him?

  Ignoring his comment, Buck continued, “I think the farmer’s omelet with a couple pancakes and fruit.” He leaned back, rubbing his stomach. “Got to keep my energy up.”

  Oh. Joey hadn’t expected that. There was hidden fire under the shy demeanor. As if he wasn’t in enough trouble already.

  Once they both ordered, Joey had expected that conversation would falter. After all, they didn’t know each other well. Surprisingly, Buck made it easy, telling Joey hilarious stories about his clients as well as shenanigans he and Miguel got up to both during and after work. Joey wasn’t surprised to learn that Buck’s business was booming and he was considering expanding into the space next door.

  Joey found himself telling Buck about growing up the youngest in a family of seven. How he’d always felt like an only child even though he had a brother and three sisters. How he wasn’t close to them due to the Nineteen-year age difference between himself and his next sister. How he resented that they all expected him to take care of his mother now, even though he loved her. How difficult it had been for them to put his dad into a home.

  It was, all in all, an incredible first date of the new year. Day, first day of the year, Joey reminded himself.

  All the time they had been talking and eating, Joey had been trying to figure out how he could ask to borrow Sheila again. And then Buck gave him the opening he needed without him having to ask.

  “Look, I’ve actually got to go into the shop. I know we talked about taking Xena for a walk, but an old customer asked for a favor and I really need to help him out.”

  A stab of jealousy made Joey’s stomach cramp. Who was this customer Buck was willing to do a favor for on a holiday? His rational brain reminded him, again, that he didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. “Uh, okay.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind dropping me off, then, if you want, you can borrow Sheila and take Xena to the dog park. I mean, if you want to. I know we still haven’t talked about your car. Later I can show you a couple cars I have that might work for you. Take Sheila for the day if you like; I don’t know how long this job is going to take.”

  Wow. “Okay, that would be cool.”

  It felt weird this time, dropping Buck off and leaving again in a car that wasn’t his. He’d had a pang of guilt seeing his little car sitting next to the shop, abandoned and broken. Or maybe it was guilt because he wasn’t going to walk Xena, he was heading back to NOT. He needed to see if he could find the warehouse those kids were hidden in. He needed to make sure they were doing okay. He needed to figure out what he was going to do about them. He certainly didn’t trust Sacha or the freakily scary Andre to take care of them.

  Twenty-Six

  As soon as Sheila disappeared around the corner, Buck dashed into the shop and grabbed the keys to his third-favorite car, a dark-brown 1972 Datsun 240Z. The only reason the Datsun wasn’t higher on his list was because it was a little small for him. At six foot four, if he wasn’t slouched down in the seat his head bumped the roof anytime he hit a pothole or drove over a bump. He didn’t think Joey had seen him driving this one, though, and it would be less noticeable than the Mustang.

  Buck took off in the same direction Joey had, hoping against hope he would be able to close the distance between them before Joey got too far ahead.

  As luck would have it, he spied Sheila’s distinctive brake lights a few blocks ahead. Joey had gotten caught at one of the more ridiculous intersections in Skagit; if you didn’t hit it at just the right time, the likelihood of being stuck for two light cycles was high. Buck did a mental fist-pump. No way was he losing his guy.

  After a few minutes of driving, staying on the main north-south route through town, Joey took a right turn toward NOT. This was no place to walk a dog.

  Traffic thinned out as they drove deeper into NOT, and Buck was afraid Joey might notice a strange car following him. He didn’t need to worry, though; five hundred feet later Joey pulled over to the curb and stopped, but didn’t immediately get out of the car. Buck swung left without signaling, pulling into the first available parking space. That wasn’t difficult, since this area of town was still underdeveloped. Now what was he going to do?

  Hoping he’d return to find his car where he left it, all its wheels intact, Buck extracted himself from the low bucket seat and jogged back around the corner to where he could see Sheila, about a block away. Xena was sitting up in the back seat watching Joey, who was walking slowly in the other direction, peering intently at each building as he passed. He was so focused he wouldn’t have noticed if Buck had been right next to him. Jeez, the guy was so not undercover material.

  About a block from where he’d parked, Joey stopped and stood on tiptoe trying to see through a grimy window. After a few seconds, he shook his head and moved to the next building. He did this twice more before he seemed to find what he was looking for. This time, after peering in the window, he tried the door handle. The next thing Buck knew, a huge bearlike man came out of nowhere and grabbed Joey, dragging him inside the old warehouse. Buck had been so intent on watching Joey, he hadn’t been watching for other people. Also not spy material, he thought grimly.

  One minute Joey had been standing there; now he was gone. In the clutches of a man who could snap him in half with a look. Joey hadn’t even had time to yell.

  An older white Econoline van coming from the other direction screeched to a halt in front of the building. The driver’s door was flung open and a man jumped out and raced toward where Joey had disappeared. Buck had no time to consider; he bolted
in the same direction, running as fast as he could down the battered sidewalk.

  The few seconds it took to get there seemed like a lifetime. Brandon Campbell was trying to kick the heavy wooden door down. There was no time for Buck to wonder what Micah’s friend was doing there, just damn relieved he wasn’t alone with his fear for Joey. That was a solid wood door; it wasn’t going to splinter like in the movies.

  “Wait a sec,” Buck ordered. “Together.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Together the two of them aimed a ferocious kick at the door, and Buck felt it give a little. Two more tries and the door splintered at the lock and they were able to squeeze through. Buck didn’t question why Brandon Campbell was randomly driving down the street in NOT; he was just glad there were two of them to break down the door. He had known Joey was up to something, involved in something Adam Klay was concerned about, but he hadn’t expected the apple-sized lump in his throat when his eyes adjusted to the dim light and there was no sign of Joey or the large man who had stolen him away.

  He and Brandon stood for a moment, staring into the gloom of the empty warehouse. It had been maybe three minutes. Where had they disappeared to?

  He started to speak, but Brandon held out a hand, motioning him to keep quiet. They both calmed their breathing, trying to hear what the building was telling them. They heard a soft sniffle and the sound of someone trying to repress a cough. What the hell. Buck wished he had a flashlight. He wished he knew what the hell was going on. He was a mechanic, not a super spy. Brandon motioned again, and as quietly as two large men could, they moved into the gloom toward the soft sounds.