“What in the hell was that about, Gent?” Trent’s voice sounded in his ear, low with curiosity that matched Gentry’s.
“I have absolutely no idea, man. No idea at all.”
Gentry did his best to shake the encounter off and to get back into the swing of things. He managed to get one more guy back up to his room and safely into Trent’s waiting arms before things went sideways again. He had just pushed his way past the grimy front door of the hotel again when he frozen at the sight of the guy from before standing directly beside what Gentry had begun to refer to as his lamppost. From the look on his face he wasn’t too happy with what Gentry had supposedly just done. After a few seconds Gentry managed to make his body move, and he made his way over to him.
“Did you … uh … change your mind?” Gentry prayed in the back of his mind that the answer would be no because if he had to lead this guy to get arrested then it was seriously going to ruin his week. And the fantasies he was already looking forward to having in the privacy of his apartment.
“No! For fuck’s sake, here!” For the first time Gentry noticed the large paper bag in the guy’s hands, and he found himself with no other choice but to take it when it was practically shoved into his arms.
Gentry made sure to take a step back and away from the guy as he ignored Trent’s voice in his ear and slowly opened the bag. He felt his brows fly upwards in surprise as he reached a hand inside and pulled out a thin windbreaker and saw what looked like a couple of sandwiches wrapped in wax paper in the bottom.
“Why are you giving me this?” He was genuinely curious.
“Kid, you’re too fucking thin, and in this cold that shit can kill you. Plus I know you’re new since you’ve posted up across from my club.” The stranger jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards The Pale. “Everybody knows I don’t tolerate this kind of shit. I’m going to cut you a break since you look like you’re freezing your ass off, and you’ve obviously not eaten in God knows how long. So just take the jacket and the food and get out of here. All right?” His voice was hard, but there was a gentle hint of sympathy in the almost soft way he looked at Gentry.
“Why in the hell should I listen to you?” Gentry tried to exude sullen as best he could, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that he did it so well.
“Because I will call the police and I will have you taken in for hooking and disrupting my business if you don’t.” He seemed serious enough, and Gentry could just imagine the shit he’d catch if he managed to get called in for prostitution.
It would prove that he was doing his job and being convincing, but Gentry still knew that Trent and Grierson both would have a field day, not to mention his brothers. He’d more than likely end up getting paraded through the department with much fanfare and catcalling if that happened. Still, he had his cover to keep and a job to do. If that meant he had to fake getting collared by some of the guys on this beat to keep his cover while the operation was still a go then he would. He couldn’t let one slightly intimidating and distractingly sexy stranger in a suit throw him off his game.
“Are you sure I couldn’t persuade you to change your mind?” Gentry murmured.
The guy stared at him silently again, and then he shook his head, turned on his heel, and marched back towards the street. “Eat the damn sandwiches.” He called over his shoulder before he got too far away from Gentry.
Gentry stared after him, a jacket in one hand and a bag of sandwiches in the other.
“That was seriously unexpected.” He spoke dazedly into the mic, and he could hear Trent once again start to snicker irritatingly in his ear at the realization of what had just happened.
He’d found an actual honest to God Good Samaritan.
Needless to say, in the end he didn’t eat the sandwiches. He wasn’t stupid enough to just take food from someone like that, but he really wanted to.
Chapter Four
Gentry simultaneously wished it had all ended there and was profoundly grateful that it didn’t. He’d reported back to Grierson in the earlier hours of the morning and had been informed that the assignment was still a go. The brass had cleared him to keep up his cover for as long as he could since the number of collars they normally got during one of these operations had doubled. Apparently they were hoping it would be a run of good luck for the entire department and would bring up their average number of arrests. Resigned to spending who knew how long freezing his ass off on the corner, he had managed to stumble his way back to his apartment and crash.
He’d answered his phone with a groggy murmur of “Trecall” what seemed like only minutes later only to be informed by a disgustingly cheerful Trent that his night would be starting early. Apparently The Pale was having some sort of anniversary party, and Grierson expected things to be much more eventful, much earlier than normal. Gentry had groaned but snapped his phone shut and dragged himself into the shower and then to his closet to get some fresh clothes. On an afterthought he stuffed the windbreaker the guy had given him into his bag, and, with a sandwich hanging half out of his mouth, dashed out the door.
Gentry found himself back to leaning against his lamppost a few hours later, earpiece firmly in place and a mic clipped to the underside of the thick collar of the fishnet shirt he was wearing. It was early by clubbing standards but still cold, and Gentry was eternally grateful for the fact that he was wearing leather pants instead of shorts. His first few hours turned up only one collar, but Gentry could see the line outside The Pale begin to grow steadily longer as the night went on. It was only a matter of time before people started pouring out, and then Gentry’s night would really pick up.
He was also thrilled that Grierson had seen fit to put up a traffic check about a mile out in each direction. Because of the party there were going to be a lot more intoxicated people roaming the streets than on a regular night. The ones who were looking to do something stupid, and more importantly illegal, had just had their chances of getting caught doubled.
The chill decided to really set in, and Gentry debated over whether or not he’d get in trouble for leaving his post long enough to get some coffee. It was freezing, and caffeine might make the night more bearable. He was about to give into the need and tell Trent he’d be back in a few seconds when he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye. He turned, business smile firmly in place, only to have it fall away and surprise take over instead.
The guy from before, whom Gentry may or may not have looked up to see if his claims of owning The Pale, was in the middle of crossing the street.
Dublin MacAulay was the name that Gentry had managed to put to the face of his mysterious benefactor, and he did indeed own the club across the street. The business man’s information had popped up when he’d done a search, and Gentry had been pleased to see that the guy had a surprisingly clean record. For all intents and purposes the man seemed to have legitimately good business sense. He’d renovated the bar he’d inherited from his father and had turned it into one of the city’s most popular clubs by the time he was twenty-seven. Three years later, at thirty he was still doing well.
The man in question had a scowl on his attractive face and what looked like a large travel mug in his hand. When it was obvious that Dublin had his sights set firmly on him Gentry felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He was pretty sure that the guy hadn’t had some sort of hidden angle the night before and that Dublin was genuinely trying to do him a favor like it seemed. Gentry hoped so because try as he might he couldn’t seem to get the jacket and the food out of his mind. Not too many people thought about helping the street people like that. Between growing up in the city and working the job, Gentry had seen enough to realize that.
It was nice to think there were still good people out there, even if Dublin needed to work on his bedside manner a bit.
“Well will you look at that! It’s your Prince Charming back to save your skinny ass from the cold.” Trent’s voice echoed in his ear. He was obviously watching the str
eet from the window, and Gentry had to fight down the urge to say something cutting back at him.
“Did you miss me?” Gentry mustered up his most sarcastic smile as he raked his eyes over Dublin’s form. He’d thought the grey suit from the night before was sexy, but this time the guy was decked out in tailored black pinstripe with a deep crimson dress shirt. Gentry could practically feel himself go weak in the knees at the figure he cut.
“I should still be missing you. I should miss you from now until the end of time because you’re not supposed to be here.” Dublin gestured towards the street corner as a whole.
“Aw, now don’t be like that. If I’d stayed gone you wouldn’t have had a reason to come out in this wonderful weather to try and make me leave again.”
“For some strange reason I’m pretty sure I would have survived the ending of our long and joyous relationship.” The delivery was so perfect it startled a laugh out of Gentry, which caused Dublin to stare at him intensely for a moment before he seemed to get a hold of himself.
“So are you going to tell me your name?” Gentry couldn’t help but ask. He wanted an excuse to keep talking to this guy, wanted to be properly introduced even if Dublin did think he was a hooker. It was worth it if it gave Gentry the chance to see him in a suit and to experience some more of that gruff wit every once in a while during however long he had to be undercover.
“Dublin MacAulay.” Dublin surprised Gentry again by holding his free hand out towards him.
“Gentry.” He reached out and clasped the offered hand firmly in his own for a second before he pulled away and arched a brow at Dublin’s suddenly dark expression.
“You shouldn’t give out your real name that easy if you’re going to keep doing this. You do that too much and some of your … work … might get the wrong impression and try to follow you home. It’s better to stick to ones that are obviously fake.” Dublin’s brows were drawn down over his dark eyes.
“I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” Gently was thrown by the insight and the surety with which Dublin spoke. Just then a harsh gust of wind swept down the street and the cold cut Gentry down to the bone. He shivered hard as he cursed and tried to rub some warmth into his arms.
“Don’t you have any fucking common sense? You’re going to catch your goddamn death out here in this shit. Drink this.” For the second time in two days Dublin shoved something into Gentry’s hands, only this time it was the travel mug he’d been carrying.
Gentry looked down at the container that he was currently clutching. The gentle warmth it exuded did wonders for his frozen hands. It took some serious willpower, but Gentry managed to suppress the urge to do just what Dublin had told him to. Dublin seemed to sense his hesitancy because he sighed, reached back out and plucked the mug from Gentry’s hands, opened the top and took an obviously large swallow before he handed it back.
“It’s just soup. I promise I left anything extra out of this batch.” Dublin stared at him expectantly, and Gentry couldn’t resist any longer. He was cold, hungry, and Dublin had willingly drunk out of the now open container that was taunting Gentry with the delicious smell of hot tomato soup. He took a hesitant sip and almost moaned in pleasure as the taste hit him, and he had to force himself not to chug the entire thing. Gentry looked up and over the edge of the container, and he could see that Dublin was watching him with avid interest.
Their eyes met and held. Gentry, without breaking eye contact, slowly lowered the mug and licked his lips, tongue chasing the lingering taste of soup. He saw the way Dublin’s eyes followed the movement, the way they darkened in the light of the streetlamp, and he felt a wave of answering heat begin to curl in his stomach. In that moment Gentry wanted nothing more than to be able to act on it.
“It’s good. Thanks.” Gentry was shocked by how husky his own voice sounded, how much his own blossoming desire had begun to spill over and past his tight hold on it.
“Good.” Dublin practically rumbled, and somehow it must have shaken him out of the almost companionable state they’d both fallen into. Dublin’s wide shoulders tensed, and he seemed to drawn himself inwards again as he cleared his throat. Gentry watched with a growing sense of disappointment as Dublin noticeably shut himself off.
“Drink it, and don’t worry about the mug.” Dublin took a step back and then turned to walk away like he had the night before. Gentry had to stop himself from following him. He had to remind himself of what he was supposed to be, of the role he was supposed to be playing. The conspicuous silence on the other side of his ear-piece did nothing to help him remember.
“I’m still not leaving!” He called out to Dublin’s rapidly retreating form.
“I still might call the police! Oh, and wear the damn jacket I gave you, you idiot.” Dublin hollered back as he moved back across the street. He didn’t even break stride, but he did wave a hand at Gentry over his shoulder.
Gentry sipped at his mug of soup, a soft smile on his face and a deep sense of regret in his heart. He really wished he’d eaten those sandwiches now.
Chapter Five
Three days later Gentry wrapped up his first week on the corner to the surprise of everyone. Normally they’d only have a day, two at the most, on that particular kind of sting. Luckily for them the men, and the odd woman, that they’d busted had all been too embarrassed to rat them out to anyone. Plus, to the amusement of everyone but Gentry, he seemed to bring in record numbers during what time Dublin wasn’t outside trying to gently harass him into leaving.
After his second visit there’d been talk of shutting the entire thing down if Dublin insisted on coming around. There had been the fear of Gentry getting made or of Dublin getting caught in the middle of a collar gone wrong, but it had faded rather quickly. With Trent constantly on the lookout and Gentry wired and armed they decided that the slight risk was acceptable. Added to that was the fact that Dublin’s presence seemed to add a sort of validity to Gentry’s cover. Apparently he was as well known for handing out food and help to the street people who lingered near his club as he was for calling the police to make sure they left quickly.
The fact that he hadn’t turned Gentry in despite his usual quickness to do so raised more than a few brows around the department. But it also ensured that the other people who worked the rest of the block continued to give his corner a wide berth.
So that of course meant that instead of Gentry being back on his regular case assignment he was stuck outside in the cold while Trent laughed in his ear from inside the relatively warm hotel. His only real enjoyment came from the fact that Dublin and he had settled into a sort of pattern. Every night without fail Dublin would make his way across the street with some form of food or drink that he’d bully Gentry into taking.
Gentry had stopped really trying to refuse after the soup and had instead come to look forward to his nightly meals. He looked at it like a sort of fringe benefit, the food and the flow of conversation that had unexpectedly grown between him and Dublin. He felt connected to the man, like there might be the potential for something great to grow between them if that space wasn’t already filled with the lie of what Gentry really did for a living.
Still, it didn’t stop him from talking to Dublin about anything and everything whenever the guy showed up with whatever treat he’d decided to bring Gentry that night. Trent had been surprisingly helpful during the whole thing. He’d teased Gentry gently about his “white knight”, but besides chuckling at some of their conversations and the way Gentry couldn’t help but flirt with Dublin he’d been relatively silent. It was an unspoken rule that they wouldn’t report exactly how much time Dublin spent with Gentry each night, only that he stopped by.
When Dublin showed up that night with two coffees and a sandwich, Gentry could tell off hand that something was wrong. Even though Dublin was normally serious looking and preferred the harsh bit of sarcastic humor, there was a new kind of tension in the lines around his mouth and the set of his shoulders. Gentry knew it wasn’t any of
his business, knew he didn’t need to get any more involved than he already was, but he couldn’t help himself.
“What’s wrong?” He asked the question gently after they’d sipped their coffee for a few seconds in companionable silence.
“Nothing.” Dublin stared off into the distance, mouth pinched and brow furrowed. Gentry shifted his coffee and sandwich around until he had a free hand. He slowly reached out and laid it on Dublin’s arm and squeezed lightly.
“Tell me. The least I can do is offer you a sympathetic ear. After all I need to pay you back for feeding me all the time.” Gentry could feel Dublin’s muscles tense through the man’s clothes, and for a second he expected him to pull away from the touch. Instead Dublin stared at him for a moment, and his dark eyes searched Gentry’s face intently, before he sighed and raked a wide palmed hand through his hair.
“You don’t need to pay me back, Gentry. That’s not why I do it.” Dublin sounded tired, and Gentry didn’t like hearing that kind of exhaustion in his voice.
“Fine then, tell me because we’re friends, Dublin. That’s what friends do.” Gentry waited for Dublin to reject the extended offer, to tell him in no uncertain terms that friends were something they could never be. When Dublin just looked at him and smiled slowly instead Gentry let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“There was a girl on my block when I was growing up. Her name was Kayleigh. She was a sweet girl, but her old man was as mean as a snake.” There was anger in Dublin’s face and a hint of bitterness.
“By the time we were seventeen, she was … in your line of work.” Gentry, in a knowledge born of seeing too many cases that started the same way, knew the story didn’t end well. “Everybody on the block knew it, but no one ever did anything. I tried to help her, but I was just a kid, and no one would back me up. She was dead before we were nineteen.”
Undercover Lover Page 2