by Cari Z.
Lennox went ahead and checked his kit. Might as well make sure he had everything he’d need for Elliot’s house. Elliot McKenzie wasn’t at all what Lennox had been expecting. He’d radiated charisma like some people radiated dominance.
Lennox didn’t have a temperament that necessitated he be in control of every situation. He could take charge with ease―the Army had taught him how―but he’d never sought the spotlight. Hell, he could all but disappear into a crowd if he needed to, a skill that had made both of his exes jealous more than once. He liked being able to step back and observe, to watch the flow of people around him and see where tension built. But someone like Elliot? He was never going to escape anyone’s gaze.
He clearly didn’t want to, either. Lennox didn’t think he’d ever seen a prettier man, and knowing Oliver the way he did, that was saying something.
The suit, the shoes, the sleek chestnut hair under the ridiculous hat he’d made work, and the square jaw that should have made his face seem blocky but somehow made it chiseled instead. Then there were his eyes. Lennox couldn’t quite get over those eyes: one brown, one green, both completely devilish. He didn’t make a habit of checking men out, but honestly, almost anybody would have spared the time to check out Elliot McKenzie.
His story had been rather revealing. Incomplete, but Lennox would be a hypocrite if he complained about that, given how little he’d shared about himself. Elliot hadn’t pried, though, so Lennox would work with what he’d been given. A disbarred lawyer turned self-help star with enough dirt in his past to worry him in the present? Maybe there had been other clients Elliot had screwed over before one of them finally turned on him. He wondered where Elliot’d been shot. It was likely that if he asked nicely, Elliot would be more than happy to strip for him.
Fuck it, he was not gonna get hard at work. Lennox repacked his kit and resolutely pushed Elliot from his mind, just in time to get a face full of disappointed Rodney when he turned around.
“Jesus,” he breathed after jumping a little. “You startled me.”
Rodney didn’t give him long to find his feet. “Why were you so rude to that man, Lennox?”
“Because he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”
“The key to helping such customers is educating them, not tearing them apart.” Rodney shook his head. “Dealing with people is difficult sometimes, I know. But it is absolutely essential to this job.”
“I do fine on installs,” Lennox protested.
“Yes, but I’ve had three customer complaints about your work in the shop in the past two weeks. You are not patient enough, Lennox. We are not here to judge their reasons for purchasing from us; we’re here to sell them what they’re looking for.”
Lennox set his jaw. “He wanted something inappropriate.”
“That isn’t our decision. Although in this case, I agreed with you. The gentleman left without buying anything, but I managed to mollify him first, I think. However, now he will likely go to Walmart and buy a poorly made shotgun off the rack, and give it to a man who will never learn to properly use it. Then we will all be grateful if we never hear about such a man having an accident with his weapon.”
Lennox frowned. “If we’re not allowed to judge their purchases, then we can’t take responsibility for what happens after the purchase is made, either. That sort of thing isn’t healthy, or so my therapist says.”
“Ah yes, Janet!” Rodney’s somberness fell away almost instantly. “You and she are getting along, then? She helped my Rebecca very much.”
“We’re . . . making progress.”
Fortunately for Lennox, that seemed to be all the detail Rodney needed. “Good, good. That’s the most anyone can hope for. I’m pleased you’re seeing some benefit from the sessions.”
“Me too.” Benefit was maybe a generous word for it, but if having a therapist made Gaby happy and kept Rodney off his back, then it was worth it. “I do actually have to leave for an install now, so . . .”
“Of course.” Rodney nodded easily. “You can take Number Three.” There were five company cars, enough for everyone to be out in one if needed, but Lennox shook his head.
“I’ll take my truck. I’ve got a place to be right after, and I don’t want to come back here first.” He’d brought his truck today so he wouldn’t have to return to his apartment and swap vehicles, which would save him some time getting to Lee, and he knew she’d appreciate that.
“Boxing today?”
“Nah, taking my kid out.”
Rodney beamed. “Little Lia. I gave her her first tactical folding knife, you know. Two and a half inches, with a pretty pink handle.”
Lennox sighed. “She’s Lee now, and she covered the pink with black electrical tape, but she still carries it when she’s not going to school.”
“Ah, children, they change so quickly.” Rodney tugged on one side of his moustache. “Perhaps I’ll make her a new one with a black handle, hmm?”
“Maybe for a special occasion,” Lennox said. “I don’t want to spoil her.”
Spoil her with knives, honestly. He could almost hear his mother’s voice in his head as he grabbed the kit and headed out to his rattletrap 1984 Nissan pickup, its body more rust than metal at this point. It started reluctantly, and Lennox frowned. He’d have to make an appointment with a mechanic soon; that guttural sound couldn’t be good.
Finding 217 Cody Lane was pretty easy. Believing that it belonged to Elliot McKenzie? That strained Lennox’s belief. The house wasn’t a mansion like so many of its neighbors: it was a modest two-story Victorian painted white and trimmed in lilac, which matched the enormous bushes that obscured much of its front fence. There was an ash tree in the yard with a swing hanging down from one of its long, low branches, and a porch with flower boxes—empty for now, but they were still vivid spots of color against the white of the house.
The house didn’t appear slick or grandiose or particularly fancy, and if Elliot himself hadn’t been standing on the porch waiting, his hands in his pockets, hat and tie discarded in favor of a close-fitting blue sweater, Lennox would have thought he’d gotten the address wrong. And even with Elliot standing there, the tableau still strained Lennox’s credulity since Elliot carried what looked like a struggling orange puffball under one arm.
Lennox turned off the truck, which coughed distressingly before it went silent, and got out with his case. “I see you found me,” Elliot said brightly. “Although I didn’t intend for you to sacrifice your vehicle to the road gods in order to make it here,” he added with a little frown. “That sounds bad.”
“I know, I need to get it checked out,” Lennox said. “But it only has to last me through tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” Elliot lifted his eyebrows and smirked. “Hot date?”
“Only if you’re a pervert.” Which, damn, had that come off rude? He hadn’t intended it to be rude, but apparently he was shit at interacting like a normal person today. Elliot just grinned, though.
“Well sometimes, yes, I certainly am. Perhaps not in this particular case, but I can’t know without more details, so . . .” He left his sentence hanging, and Lennox was happy to disabuse him of any kinky notions. This time, at least.
“I mean, I’m taking my daughter out tonight.” He was trying to look forward to it, but it was shamefully hard. Lee would probably subject him to sushi, and then he’d spend a few hours fumbling his way through the minefield that was conversation with her these days, before they took refuge in a movie theater. “Her mom won’t let her ride on the motorcycle with me in the winter, so I’m using the truck.”
“Ah.” Elliot glanced from Lennox to his truck and back again. “To be honest, normally I’d say something slightly deprecating here about the state of your vehicle, but you manage to make it look good.”
It was an odd compliment, but Lennox would take it. Or, better yet, he’d ignore it and get to work. He stepped up onto the porch and the puffball started to wiggle insanely, until Elliot put it dow
n. It ran over to Lennox’s feet, barking excitedly, and he smiled despite himself.
“What kind of dog is this?” he asked as he bent over and scratched it behind its tiny ears. The dog bounced up and down with the force of its enthusiastic welcome.
“A Pomeranian. Her name is Holly.”
“Hey, Holly,” Lennox said gently, and got a lick for his trouble before he straightened up. “I have to say, I didn’t see you as a dog person. Too much . . .” He waved a hand at Elliot’s still-dapper outfit. “Shedding.”
“Eh, she came with the house,” Elliot said nonchalantly, but he gave the little dog a pat of his own before he led the way into his home. “The place was left to me by a friend, and even though it’s been almost five years, there are some things I just can’t bring myself to change. Including Holly.”
Lennox looked around with an eye toward the job, but he couldn’t help appreciating the vintage movie posters and black-and-white photographs of golden-age Hollywood stars that decorated the walls. The one of Humphrey Bogart was actually signed. “It must have been a good friend,” he said as Elliot led him through the foyer and into the living room. The furniture here was more in line with what he’d expected of Elliot: plenty of leather and steel, fewer doilies and floral imprints, and the hardwood floors were unsoftened by accent rugs or any of the other accessories that Gaby insisted a house needed.
“The best,” Elliot said. “She helped me pick myself back up after everything that happened with Redback, and she was wonderfully nonjudgmental.” From Elliot’s slightly awed tone, the novelty of that still hadn’t worn off.
“She, huh?” Lennox prompted as he set his case down on the coffee table. “She who?”
“She who was about sixty years older than me, and the wrong gender for anything other than a purely platonic love,” Elliot said, but his grin showed that he hadn’t taken offense. “Willie and I, we . . .” He shrugged. “Had an immediate connection. It’s hard to explain.”
Lennox was no good at pushing, even when he was curious, so he changed the subject. “Clearly you haven’t had Serena in here yet,” he said as he opened his case on the dining room table.
Elliot cocked his head. “What makes you say that?”
“No throw pillows.”
He chuckled. “You know the family so well. How is that possible, by the way, given that you and your ex have been divorced for so long?”
“Just because we were a bad idea as a couple didn’t mean we couldn’t raise our kid together.” And now things were getting a little too personal for comfort. Time to move on. Lennox pulled out the central station of the security unit.
“This is your system’s brain. It communicates with the entry sensors and motion detectors and sounds a physical alarm while sending a distress signal to Castillion. It’s best set in a central location where it can be plugged in, but it’s got batteries as a backup in case you lose power.” He held it up. “Where would you like it?”
Elliot turned and surveyed his living room. “How about right under Cary Grant?” He chuckled. “Which is where we’d all like to be, honestly.”
Lennox did his best to keep his voice even as he set up the small black tower. “Does your boyfriend know you’re side-eyeing Cary Grant when he’s not around?”
“If I had a boyfriend, he would certainly be made to understand that in the pantheon of history’s fascinating men, Cary Grant is nearly impossible to surpass. He was a stilt walker in his teens, you know. He ran away from Jolly Old England to Hollywood and never looked back.”
Elliot sounded faintly jealous. It was none of Lennox’s business, but . . . “Are you thinking of taking a second career as a stilt walker?”
“Oh, hell no. I’m not crazy about heights, although,” he added slyly, “I do happen to be a big fan of exposure. But no, no stilts for me. I’m already on my second career; I think one successful reinvention per lifetime is about all most of us can hope for.”
He seemed a little embarrassed. Lennox could relate. In the months between his discharge from the Army and finding work with Castillion, he’d struggled to make sense out of his life. Honestly, he hadn’t been able to understand why he still deserved one. Oliver had done his best to help, but Lennox hadn’t been able to hear him. The only good thing to come out of that period was the realization he truly wanted to live, even if it meant bearing so much guilt it nearly debilitated him at times. Lennox still wasn’t sure if what he was doing with himself was the best thing, but it was enough to keep a roof over his head and let him help support his daughter. That was all he could ask.
“Mr. West?”
“Hmm?” Lennox was jerked out of his introspection by Elliot’s question. “Yeah?”
“Are you waiting for something else to happen here? Because the light is green, and the machine isn’t buzzing or telling us ‘I’m sorry, Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.’”
Lennox shook his head. “Sorry, I got distracted. Let’s do the doors next, I’ll show you how.” He stood up, and Elliot nodded as they walked back to the table. “And you should call me Lennox, I think.” He barely remembered to respond to his last name without Sergeant attached to it.
Elliot’s face brightened. “I thought that was solely for family and friends!”
“What can I say?” Lennox gestured at Holly, who had calmed down enough to stop barking but was still standing right beside his feet, gazing up with an expression of canine wonderment on her little face. “Your dog makes a convincing argument for trusting you.”
“Holly would have been a great dog for me when I was a lawyer. Cuteness is a sound strategy at the negotiating table,” Elliot teased. “I wish she worked this magic on everyone I met. My business would be twice as big.”
“You’d have to get Serena her own personal assistant.” Lennox handed Elliot a sensor. “I’ll show you how to do this on the front door and then you can do the back.”
“No need, it seems pretty self-explanatory to me.” Elliot looked over the two-part sensor. “They can be, what, as much as an inch apart without triggering the alarm?”
“Two inches.”
“And the backs are self-adhesive. No drills required? I’m feeling a bit let down.” He pouted. “How can I impress you with my DIY skills if I don’t get to pull out my drill? I have a versatile drill.”
Lennox stared at Elliot for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the man’s latest declaration. “I can’t tell if that’s innuendo or serious.”
“I never joke about my power tools,” Elliot said soberly. He held on to his laughter for a few more seconds before saying, “Although there’s a first time for everything. My drill may be off-limits, but I’m happy to tell you about my hammer. And in this metaphor,” he leaned in and murmured, “the hammer is my penis.” He waited for a moment while Lennox stared at him. “No? Not a fan of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog? Or maybe you’re just very straight and very polite simultaneously. That’s a shame.”
Lennox couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh. He actually had to shut his eyes for a moment; it felt so wonderfully ridiculous. He probably should be self-conscious about it, or at least apologize for laughing at Elliot, but the man was laughing along with him.
“I don’t understand more than every other word out of your mouth,” Lennox said once he’d gotten a handle on himself. “But no, I’m not usually very polite, and sorry, no power tools needed.” He gently pushed Elliot’s shoulder, mindful to only touch the left one, the one Elliot hadn’t been favoring the other day. “Get to sticking.”
“I notice you didn’t have anything to add about the straight part,” Elliot said as he walked backward toward the kitchen door, keeping his gaze on Lennox.
“Maybe I’m still reeling from your use of metaphor,” Lennox suggested as he headed to the front. How long had it been since he’d felt this comfortable with another person? Not just like they could talk together, but like they were someone he could actually have fun with, banter with, without fea
r of judgment? Not at work, where he was friendly but not close with his colleagues. Not with Gaby and her family, whom he loved but couldn’t afford to be himself around. Could it have been before Oliver, when he had been too numb to care what anyone said about him? Maybe even longer, not since he’d had a whole and healthy squad in Kabul.
“Let me know if you’re going to faint, and I’ll try to catch you,” Elliot called out. “Okay, it’s on. What next?”
“Same thing, only on the windows,” Lennox said.
Between the two of them, it took less than an hour to get the entire house hooked up with entry sensors, motion detectors, and a few extra perks that Lennox threw in for free. Elliot had a quip every time they passed each other, and skillfully sidetracked Lennox’s inquiries about how many notes had been left, how often, and when it had all started. In turn Lennox managed to keep most of his personal life to himself, although Elliot was able to tease a few details out of him that he’d had no intention of revealing. Like the fact that he was a cat person.
“How is that possible?” Elliot demanded. “Cats are cruel, vicious killing machines with no remorse and a finely honed ability to bullshit you into doing whatever they want. My sister has cats, and they’re the devil. Dogs are affectionate, interactive, cuddly―how can you not be a dog person?”
“Too high maintenance.” Though Lennox had to admit that Holly was about as sweet as a dog could be. She was sitting on his lap right now, while Lennox and Elliot were sitting together at the dining room table going over the user agreement. “And my mom was allergic, so I never had them growing up.”
“Was your mom a do-the-housework-in-her-pearls kind of lady?” Elliot asked as he signed the last page of the contract.
Lennox shook his head. “Wrong decade. And pearls were never her thing anyway. Try flower crowns and Mardi Gras beads.”
Elliot stared at him for a moment before firmly shaking his head. “No. No way.”
Lennox was probably more gleeful than he should be. “Yep.”
“Your mother was not a hippie.”