by K. C. Burn
“Oh, come on, Cliffy. I mean, you were an okay lay, but it wasn’t earth-shattering enough to chase you across the country.”
Cliff coughed, caught off guard by the unexpectedly low blow. This was a new tactic. Apparently Brett was forgetting the tearful message he’d left on Cliff’s cell phone. Nevertheless, the comment had been designed to hurt, to prick deeply at a man’s psyche, and Cliff couldn’t deny it had been effective. He might have been the one to break it off, but the fact that Brett had gone looking for something Cliff couldn’t provide had eroded his self-confidence. Irritating but true, and yet another reason to wonder why Brett bothered chasing after him.
“So you’re really here for work?” His skepticism was clearly audible, but maybe Brett was telling the truth. Maybe. It would be a long time, if ever, before Cliff trusted another word out of Brett’s mouth. Come to think of it, the tactful retreat of Kristi was the biggest concession he’d ever gotten out of her in the entire time he’d dated Brett. And that was suspicious too.
“Of course I am. The network wouldn’t send me out here if there wasn’t a good reason, and trying to get into your pants isn’t a good reason.”
They stopped at a red light, and Brett took the opportunity to twist in his seat and give Cliff a much more lascivious perusal. “At least, it’s not a good reason for them. You’re looking good, but then you always did in uniform. Maybe we can entertain ourselves when I’m not working.”
Cliff rolled his eyes as his suspicions returned tenfold. “You just finished telling me I was a shitty lay. And you didn’t seem surprised to see me at your hotel. You didn’t request I be included in your protection detail, did you?” If that wasn’t a horrifying thought, he didn’t know what was. The arrogant and self-absorbed Brett Cavanagh with enough power to influence Cliff’s new job. He was going to have to change his name and move to Australia.
“Well, no, I wasn’t surprised, exactly.” Brett laughed, a burbling, happy sound Cliff had once adored, until he’d realized how fake it was.
The light turned green, and Brett guided the truck into the Angry Parakeet parking lot.
Cliff waited, wondering if Brett would admit to using his celebrity status to pull strings.
“After all, you’d told me you were coming back here to work. It wasn’t a stretch to think that, in a town this small, you might end up as one of my bodyguards.”
Rubbing a hand across his head, Cliff wondered if he could believably call in sick until Phantoms had finished filming their show. Since they were scheduled to be here until the end of Haunt Fest, he sort of doubted it. Not unless he were coughing up a lung or losing a limb.
“So, are you out here?” Brett didn’t wait for his answer but pressed a hand to his crotch. With a grimace, Cliff grabbed Brett’s wrist, squeezing a trifle too hard, and pulled it away.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I guess that’s a no. You’re in the closet.”
He wasn’t, not really, but he should at least tell Scott before Brett did something stupid. Because Brett was bound to do something stupid, and he had a lot of fucking nerve bitching at Cliff for being in the closet. Back in Los Angeles, Cliff had only been in the closet at work, and most of his close friends weren’t police officers. Brett, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly the model of discretion, but it was his relationship that had been the dirty little secret, not that Brett was happy to dip his wick in people of either gender. The ultimate in fan service.
“Whether I am or not, that’s highly inappropriate while I’m on duty.”
“Oooh. On duty. Like that’s stopped you before.”
Cliff’s face flamed. Brett had seduced him a couple of times while he’d been on duty. In fact, Cliff suspected it might have been the uniform more than anything else that had attracted Brett in the first place and kept him around.
“That’s the past. Here, in Sandy Bottom Bay, you’re an assignment. We’re not friends; we’re not lovers. At best, we’re acquaintances. Got it?”
Brett smiled, conciliatory and sweet, making Cliff instantly suspicious. Again.
“Of course, Cliffy. And as old acquaintances, could you maybe do me a teensy-tiny favor?”
The muscles in Cliff’s jaw turned to stone.
“Could you arrange an interview with your mother? Her house is the focal point of a lot of the spectral activity around here, and we’ve got permission to film a couple of places on the property as well as in the house, but she’s refusing to appear on camera and tell us about the activity.”
“If she’s made up her mind, I won’t be able to change it.” Because Cliff had tried. Many, many times. But he was a little surprised she’d agreed to filming on the property at all.
The predatory look in Brett’s eyes intensified. “Or you could tell us about it. The camera would love you and your cheekbones. It would add extra authenticity if you were to appear in uniform. I could clear it with your boss, I’m sure.”
Cliff’s pulse sped up, and he clenched his hands in fists. “No fucking way. Get out of the fucking truck.”
Like always, Brett was using him. And this time Cliff couldn’t, or didn’t want to, make any excuses for him.
“Surely you don’t want me to go in without my bodyguard?”
With his jaw so tightly clamped, it was a wonder Cliff could speak at all. “Nothing’s going to fucking happen to you at the Angry Parakeet. But if you don’t get out of my sight and let me calm down, something might happen to you now.”
“Oooh, big, strong Cliffy the cop, threatening me with police brutality. I don’t know if I should be taping this for the Internet and a forthcoming lawsuit or stripping and spreading for you right here.” Brett laughed and got out of the truck just as the cruiser pulled up.
Cliff sat in the passenger seat, concentrating on breathing and not succumbing to the anger boiling in his brain. It wasn’t often Brett’s bitchiness was directed toward him, and he’d forgotten how very much he hated it. This was more cutting than normal, but then, Cliff hadn’t witnessed Brett with someone who’d dumped him before. Perhaps this was nothing more than Brett’s bruised ego lashing out.
The mention of a lawsuit restrained Cliff from any further madness. No matter how irritating Brett was, it wouldn’t do to antagonize him. Cliff would just have to figure out how to ignore the pointed barbs Brett aimed his way. That was the only way he’d keep his job, his sanity, and a somewhat normal blood pressure.
There was something Cliff needed to take care of now, before Brett found the most mortifying and shocking way to announce either Cliff’s sexuality or their former relationship status. Or both.
A mask of indifference plastered on his face with quite a bit of effort, Cliff swung himself out of the truck’s cab. He nodded at Kristi and Scott, who’d exited the car and were waiting for him with Brett.
“Scott, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Scott glanced at the two visitors, then back at Cliff. “What about…”
“Do you seriously think they’ll be able to get into trouble at the Angry Parakeet in under five minutes?” Cliff’s tone was a little sharp; there was no excuse for taking out his bad temper on Scott. This bodyguard gig was a publicity stunt, nothing more. It wasn’t like Brett’s life was in danger, just Cliff’s sanity.
“Sure thing, Cliff. We’ll meet you two inside.”
With a smug smirk, Kristi headed for the restaurant door and disappeared through it, Brett sauntering after her.
“Scott, this is probably the worst time and place to drop this on you, but I have a feeling it’s going to come up over dinner, and I want you to be prepared.”
Scott tilted his head but said nothing, content to wait for Cliff to finish.
“I knew Brett back in California.”
Like a puffer fish, Scott’s chest expanded, and Cliff knew he only had seconds to head off some excited request for information.
“He was my boyfriend.”
Everything froze as Scott pau
sed mid-inhalation. The world seemed to hang on its axis for a moment while two possible timelines resolved themselves. Was Scott going to hate him or accept him? Cliff despised having to face this same crossroad every time someone found out he was gay, but there wasn’t any getting around it aside from staying in the closet, and he wasn’t willing to be that guy. Not anymore.
Seconds stretched into eons as Scott processed the information. Cliff hoped to hell Scott didn’t take that long when dealing with criminals, but then, maybe it wasn’t all that long when it wasn’t your own fate in the balance.
There was no tightening of hands into fists nor any hand movement toward the gun on Scott’s hip, so Cliff let himself relax a bit.
“Wow. Brett Cavanagh is your boyfriend?”
“No, was. He cheated on me, and it was an ugly breakup. Whether he wants to play straight, bi, or gay while he’s here, I don’t know. It changes depending on which demographic he’s courting. Judging from some of his comments, he’s going to out me while he’s here.”
Cliff hated to call Brett bisexual, because it wasn’t so much that he was attracted to both genders but more that he was a gay man who’d sleep with anyone who could further his career. Shortly after their breakup, Cliff had come to the conclusion that their hidden relationship worked for Brett because he was an opportunistic sexual omnivore who didn’t want to limit his options. Brett had an incredible—and sleazy—talent for reading an audience and acting according to whichever number on the Kinsey scale would make the most favorable impression. Too bad there wasn’t an award category for that, because Brett would win by a landslide.
“Are you not out, then?”
“You’re taking this rather calmly.”
“Dude, you slept with a celebrity. That’s so cool.”
“Yeah, but it was another guy.”
Scott shrugged. “It wasn’t like we didn’t have our suspicions back in high school. You being gay isn’t a surprise. You being Brett Cavanagh’s boyfriend…er, ex-boyfriend, is.”
A big smile stretched muscles on Cliff’s face he hadn’t used in far too many weeks.
Cuffing him on the shoulder, Scott nodded. “But seriously, are you not out? Does the chief know? Because surely we can do something to shut Brett up.”
Relief, as pure and refreshing as a cool breeze, trickled through Cliff, easing away most of the tension he’d been carrying around since realizing his cheating bastard of an ex was in town and possibly stalking him.
“The chief knows, and I wasn’t really planning to hide it. Just wasn’t going to stream a rainbow flag from the cruiser window, you know? Brett just accelerated my timeline for telling you.”
“Still, he should have a little respect. Outing someone without their consent is sorta douchey.”
Cliff blinked. He shouldn’t get used to this easy acceptance. Despite the presence of gay-friendly Key West, Florida had still voted against marriage equality, so he was pleasantly shocked by Scott’s attitude.
“Thanks, man.”
“Whatever.” A low buzz sounded from Scott’s pocket. He pulled out a cell phone. “Hey, I gotta take this. It’s my mom.”
“No problem. Come join us when you’re done.” Instead of his sexuality, one of the things Cliff had discussed with Scott during his brief onboarding training had been parents. Scott’s mom wasn’t well, and Cliff hadn’t exactly confided his worries about his own mother. Cliff had, however, admitted that he hadn’t told her that he’d taken the job, and Scott had laughed, saying she probably already knew.
Which might or might not be true. His mother’s status in town was such that she didn’t necessarily get all the gossip, but between that and the handyman’s death, he’d have to sac up sooner rather than later and go visit her. First, though, he needed to get through this evening with Brett and not make an ass out of himself on his first day.
He stared up at the Angry Parakeet door, teal paint faded and cracked to the point the weathered wood was visible below in several places. Anger and irritation flooded him again. That lying bastard. If Brett had just gotten into town today, how the hell had he known where the Angry Parakeet was without benefit of directions or GPS? Cliff didn’t know what that meant, but he would find out eventually. Because if it wasn’t that Brett had memorized directions, it was possible he was stalking Cliff. Did that ever happen? A celebrity stalking a noncelebrity rather than the other way around?
Thunder cracked, loud and ominous from the dark clouds overhead, like nature’s foreshadowing. The afternoon had rapidly darkened during the short drive across town. A heavy storm was coming in. Cliff had forgotten how quickly weather could change, although he hadn’t forgotten the daily “too much humidity in the air” rainfalls. This, though, was going to last longer, if his eighteen-year experience in Sandy Bottom Bay was good for anything.
One more deep, calming breath and he opened the door, cool air rushing out to greet him, reminding him just how hot and sweat-dampened he was.
Chapter Four
Drew let Kyle take the seat with the better view of the front door, although from the angle of the table, they could both see the Angry Parakeet entrance. Looking around, he could only assume Kyle wasn’t the only one who’d heard about the possibility of Brett Cavanagh visiting their small town. Half of the occultists and paranormal practitioners were “casually” relaxing in the best restaurant and bar in the area.
The Angry Parakeet’s relaxed atmosphere and outstanding food were at complete odds with the shabby, weather-beaten exterior reminiscent of old Florida shacks abused by years of burning sun, melting humidity, torrential rains, and vicious hurricane winds. More often than not, visitors were drawn to establishments that had a more well-kept Floridian feel, but this close to Haunt Fest, there were a number of tourists taking their chances on the Angry Parakeet.
Kyle wiggled in his chair whenever the door opened, his face falling each time he realized the newcomer wasn’t Brett Cavanagh.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, how do we know Brett will come in here at all?”
Kyle’s glare should have singed Drew’s eyebrows off. “Anyone with sense wouldn’t send Brett Cavanagh anywhere else, and I’m sure he’s worldly enough not to be taken in by the pink plastic thrill of Flamingos or the kitsch of Specter Smorgasbord.”
A laugh slipped out of Drew’s mouth. “Right. Because everybody in Sandy Bottom Bay has sense.” The town’s economy was based on a horrific massacre almost two hundred years ago and the subsequent reputation for being the second-most haunted town in Florida. If this were any other state, they’d have been labeled crackpots and weirdoes long ago, but this was Florida, so they just blended right in.
“Fine. It’s a gamble.” Kyle smoothed a hand over his hair.
“Besides…what if he’s trying to be incognito? He might be getting room service right this very minute. Or what if he decided to stroll along the boardwalk, absorbing the ambiance?”
Kyle bared his teeth at Drew. “So it’s a big gamble. Do you have a better idea?”
Drew shrugged and took a gulp of his piña colada. At least he didn’t have to worry about ordering a more “manly” drink. Not only was this Florida, he was out and mostly proud. Neither he nor Kyle had managed to develop a taste for beer, and it was a relief to be able to enjoy their booze. Kyle, of course, stuck to a basic vodka and diet Coke to control his caloric intake, but Drew didn’t have to worry about that, and he drank a variety of sweet, fruity tropical drinks.
All of which was a way to avoid the thought that he really didn’t have a better idea. Bad idea or not, this was the most exciting thing he’d done in recent memory.
“This is pathetic.” Drew set his drink down and snagged a tortilla chip from the basket the waitress had left on the table.
A frigid expression froze Kyle’s face, and when he spoke, his voice was low, but each syllable was clearly enunciated. “I’m pathetic?”
It had been a hard transition for Kyle, when he’d been expe
cting to follow his dreams of dance to a big city, and as a result, he sometimes sought the limelight in ways that left Drew squirming. Drew had a few seconds to head off the explosion, and he rushed to placate Kyle. “No, I am.”
Just as quickly, Kyle switched gears, becoming offended on Drew’s behalf. His much shorter friend should have been born with Drew’s fiery red hair. Then he could truly look the part of the twinky virago, matching the personality that resided underneath Kyle’s pale Nordic appearance. Virago. Yet another word he’d picked up from his grandma’s romance novels, but this one at least he knew the meaning of.
“You’re not pathetic. Why would you say that about yourself?”
“Whoa. Calm down. Just saying that this is the most exciting thing I’ve done in weeks. Even if Brett doesn’t show up. Which, you have to admit, is kinda pathetic.”
Kyle scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah, I guess you’re right.”
The agreement stung, just a bit. Truth hurts and all that.
With another little wiggle in his seat, Kyle sat up straighter. “We need to take a trip up to Tampa, hit a decent club, and get laid. After Haunt Fest, though. One, we’re both too busy to go now, and two, we might get lucky during the festival. There are almost always a couple of cute gay college students who are nerdy or freaky enough to go buck the spring-break trend.”
“There’s always Eddie. If you’re desperate.”
Kyle’s pale cheeks lit up as he blushed. He slammed a fist against his chest and lifted his nose before he spoke. “As God as my witness, I’ll never be that desperate again.”
Eddie might have been Drew’s business rival, but he was also a hot, firm-bodied man slut.
Kyle had been ecstatic when Eddie turned his smoldering green gaze on him. At least until they’d done the deed. Kyle told Drew in gory detail the next morning about Eddie and his boring, selfish bedroom so-called skills. Which didn’t even take into account that Kyle had become persona non grata among the single women. Once Eddie turned his attention back toward the female population, Kyle had been forgiven.