by Clancy Nacht
“Yes, sir.” Getting off so lightly surprised Rex, but he imagined Masters was saving up the yelling and throwing stuff for some future fuck-up. “Going forward, I’ll do my best not to make my fellow agents anxious enough to attempt murder.”
They both knew Barnes had to have more motive than that, or Rex hoped they both knew. Still, if Masters said to back burner it, Rex had little alternative at present. With nothing to go on, Barnes remained an enigma. Harboring a vague sense of defeat, Rex returned to his desk to retrieve the laptop and head back to his hotel.
As Rex let himself into his suite, he reflected on how isolated his position left him. Mistrusted by fellow operatives. Shuffled off to his gilded cage to do work that others would have completed in the office, surrounded by others like them. There weren’t others like Rex. Masters was his only stable connection to the organization whose tasks dictated Rex’s entire existence.
Rex was a tool, forged and reforged over the years until he could do nothing but what the hand wielding him desired. If he resented it at times, what good did it accomplish? His only alternative was to rise even higher through the ranks, to make even more enemies and lose the simplicity of being a tool in trade for the dubious liberty of dispensing orders no doubt handed down from increasingly mysterious powers-that-be.
No.
He opened the laptop and proceeded through its complex security checkpoints to log in.
Resigning himself to the bureaucratic injustices of his position, Rex opened the first of several computer files labeled in Masters’s cryptic way. The files were complete with photographs and statistics. A cursory glance revealed little of immediate interest until Rex noticed the subject, an Operations Officer by the name of Oliver Broekner, worked under Hawthorne. Deeper in the file, Rex found evidence the man had worked with Barnes.
“You sneaky son of a bitch.” Rex chuckled and mentally recalibrated. Rex’s new priority was another of Hawthorne’s guys. Masters must have agreed there was basis for suspicion.
That, or he wants me to see how unsuspicious it is and bark up a more relevant tree.
Either way, Rex took the symbol of faith in him for what it was. He tore through the preliminary info, found several improbabilities relating to achievements and assignments, and then hit a wall when he tried to utilize his supposedly secure connection to dig deeper into the agency database. The file was locked. Rex couldn’t tell whether it was a lack of sufficient security off-campus or something more.
Well, on to the next.
The second blue file indicated to be “of interest” belonged to Simon Rebelski. And, it so happened, Rebelski was another of Hawthorne’s agents. As Rex stared at the file, he flashed back on Masters’s odd manner in the office.
Masters was concerned his office was bugged.
He hadn’t been baiting Rex; it was directed at whoever was listening in. That sly smile, the way he’d stared past Rex into the middle distance, his apparent pleasure with Rex’s callous responses… It had all been the result of a gambit to lull someone—possibly Hawthorne himself—into thinking Rex was done investigating Barnes.
That cast a new light on Masters’s insistence Rex pursue this remotely. And it made his inability to access the files in their entirety even more suspect.
Rebelski, it seemed, was a busy man. The official file stated he’d worked as an Intelligence Collection Analyst for the better part of a year before moving to Clandestine Operations. It wasn’t the usual career trajectory, each aspect of the trade relying on different personality traits and skillsets to thrive. Rex wondered why someone with a stable, local desk job would switch to a high-risk gig. Sure, Rex had hopped around within the Company, but Rex’s relationship with his employers was complicated to say the least; he doubted Rebelski’s conditions of recruitment and his own were at all alike.
An unscratchable itch between Rex’s shoulder blades prompted him to perform fresh checks on all his security measures. It was difficult to fully secure the environment in a public hotel owing to the necessity of maids and room service and the like, but the CIA had a long-standing arrangement with the management. Still, if there was any possibility Masters’s inner sanctum had been compromised, Rex couldn’t assume he was safe here.
Among other, more old-fashioned measures, Rex had installed a small camera in a potted plant with a good view of the door. Once he’d determined none of his other traps showed conclusive evidence of an invasion, he returned to the computer and began to review the surveillance video. Viewing it on 32x speed would still take almost an hour. It was the last thing Rex wanted to do, but it was necessary.
Is it really? Maybe you’re reading too much into everything again. Maybe you’re getting too old for this.
Rex grunted annoyance, as if he could intimidate his own mind into watching its tongue. It didn’t work. Instead, it changed tack.
If you were as terrifying as they implied—if Barnes tried to kill Ike in desperation to warn you away—would you feel better about life?
As if thinking his name had willed it into existence, an email from Ike appeared in Rex’s inbox. Rex opened it to discover that Ike had sent the promised mp3s. “Well, that makes life slightly more bearable.”
Rex downloaded the files to his hard drive as he skimmed the footage. When the first track finished, he hit play and listened to it as he watched. It provided an eerie soundtrack to the never-changing image.
Still keeping an eye on the video, Rex replied to Ike’s email. “Thanks for the music. -R.” Then he hit send and tried to convince himself he wasn’t really being watched. When he couldn’t, he had to accept it was probably true. His coping skills only worked on imaginary panic.
Rex clicked back to Rebelski’s file. The information listed as to his recent activities placed him in the Middle East—hardly unusual for a CO, a Clandestine Operative—but the actual stories sounded wrong to Rex. Instead of having undertaken significant efforts toward acquiring intelligence or fostering peace efforts, Rebelski appeared to have been peripheral to the action with no solid contact points. To Rex’s trained eye, it looked as though Rebelski’s file had been engineered to avoid oversight and accountability of the kind that Rex was there to provide.
As with Broekner’s file, security denied Rex’s attempt to access further information. The next step was to petition the agent responsible for the lockdown for a release of data, but the restricting account bore no name; it had been purged from the system.
There were only a handful of people in the world with U.S. security clearance higher than Rex’s. It had been a long time since his credentials had failed to retrieve internal information he needed. Hadn’t Masters told him that he’d given Rex the clearance he needed?
Maybe he was trying to clue me in to the purged account.
That thought sent a chill down Rex’s spine. He was about to go out just to get away from the foreboding when he saw Ike’s reply email drop into his inbox. The chill turned into a dull throb under his skin, a frisson of remembered pleasure. Despite everything, he opened it.
“Coffee shop is making noise about having me back. Thought I should check with my bodyguard for when I’m available. You going to be in town in a couple of weeks? Is that a question you can answer?”
Rex stared at the message, his pulse speeding. Then he rolled his eyes at himself and rubbed the back of his neck. After a moment’s consideration, he typed, “I’m not sure. Things are often subject to change.”
Rex began to hit send, then stopped. He wanted to see Ike again, not make him think the sex was so bad that Rex was blowing him off the next day. Exhaling slowly, Rex cracked his neck from side to side. Then he added, “Set a date, and I’ll make it happen.” The message was gone before he could second-guess it.
The next message took half an hour to roll in. Presumably Ike was making a date for his show. Everything Rex had been looking at it in regard to work blanked from his mind when the sound went off for Ike’s response.
“Went for a Fri
day night. Kaylee insists on accompanying me in case you have to save the world at the last minute. She’s going to help me record some lo-fi versions of the new stuff to send you at some point. She says she won’t let me send them unless you make it to taco night.”
Rex grinned as he imagined Ike teaching Kaylee worldly ways of reeling in the boys. He could just see him in their little living room, explaining to her never to give the boys everything they wanted, to always hold something back and make them wait.
Not that Ike had made Rex wait.
Not that Rex had let him.
Then again, Rex had been trained specifically to be unaffected by what worked on most men. Despite that, he now felt an undeniable hunger for tacos.
“Wonder where she learned to be so sneaky. Should I be worried? I’ll do whatever it takes to get those songs.” He pressed send and waited, staring at the screen, work forgotten for the time being.
This time the response was swift. “That was easy. I should make some demands of my own. It helps for me to be very relaxed when I play. I have a lot of tension. Know anyone who can help with that?”
There was no one there to see Rex’s sly grin unless some unknown agent was surveilling him, but even that risk couldn’t negate his perverse joy in flirting with Ike. It felt wrong, as if he’d landed in an alternate universe where flirting with sexy younger persons between tasks at work was something Rex could do. Because it felt wrong, it was twice as right.
“I’ve been trained to handle work-related tension. If you want, I can show you some of my preferred techniques.” Rex bit his cheek to stifle a little moan. It hadn’t even been twelve hours since he’d last gotten off with Ike. He was still so sore that just contemplating being penetrated should have been torture. Yet, Rex wanted Ike in his bed now, wanted to suck his beautiful cock and take it in his ass, to feel that addictive connection.
The Company had taught Rex that human limitations were meaningless, and his continued existence was proof of that. With a grim laugh, Rex dug in his pocket for some opiate capsules, downed them dry, and wrote back with the hotel’s name and his room number followed by, “I’ll be here for another couple hours, if you find yourself in Manhattan.”
Then he went back to his laborious re-securing of his suite, already picturing Ike against every wall, over every piece of furniture, reflected in every shiny surface.
Chapter 8
Ike checked his watch as if that would make time move faster. The time was only 10:20 a.m., and he couldn’t head to Rex’s hotel until 11. Ike didn’t want to seem too eager, but after a two-week absence during which Ike had received nothing from Rex but terse texts sent from disposable phones, Ike was anxious to lay eyes on the man.
Lay a few other things on him, too.
The thought made Ike grin.
“You have a very nice smile.” Oliver stood by the indoor pool in brightly colored swim pants that barely kept his cock from flopping out. The man was tall and lean with a nice tan and perfect teeth. He was the owner of the hot tub around which Ike was laying tile. There was a lot of tiling to do in his spacious four-bedroom home. It seemed like a lot of house for one man, but Oliver assured Ike that his family was in Maryland and would be arriving once the remodeling was done.
Apparently Oliver’s family wasn’t in a hurry, because so far Ike had been the only contractor on site. Ike never pressed. It wasn’t his business. But if he had to guess why Oliver’s family wasn’t there yet, it had something to do with Oliver’s attraction to men.
Not that Ike had seen Oliver flirt with anyone else. And really, Ike wasn’t sure if Oliver intended to be flirty or if he was just solicitous of attention because he was alone so far from his family. Ike tried not to assume. He just politely excused himself at the end of the day by saying he needed to pick up his daughter from school. Oliver had never expressed interest in meeting her, so Ike never bothered asking him over.
In the past couple of weeks on the job, Ike took lunch at the house. Oliver made conversation asking about Ike’s family while never answering much about his own. Ike wasn’t sure whether Oliver was private, or it was painful. Either way, Ike was paid as a tiler, not a therapist, so he left it at a convivial employer-employee situation.
Though, when Oliver complimented him, Ike did feel a little awkward.
“Thanks,” he said belatedly, looking up from his watch to meet Oliver’s gaze.
Oliver smirked, then started stretching. He turned around and bent over, ass cheeks flexing underneath the spandex. Ike blinked, then looked away. Sometimes it was like Oliver was doing it on purpose.
Ike checked his watch again.
“You got an appointment?” Oliver shielded his eyes from the sun.
The question surprised Ike since he didn’t think Oliver could see him. Ike hoped Oliver hadn’t caught him eyeing his ass. “Got a lunch date.”
“Really? Just suddenly out of nowhere?” Oliver padded over to Ike.
“With an old friend.” Something about Oliver’s manner made Ike cagey on the subject. “I’ll be back around one.”
“That’s a long lunch.”
“He’s a good friend.” Ike smiled thinking about feeling Rex against him again, smelling him, tasting his skin, sinking into him.
Oliver searched Ike’s face. “Maybe more than a friend?”
Whether Rex was more than a friend was a topic Ike had explored in quiet moments, but he’d never come to a satisfactory conclusion. He didn’t want to sweat a good thing. Then again, he didn’t want to miss out on a good thing.
But Rex was a busy and important man. He had a lot more on his mind than relationships, and really, Ike didn’t have much to offer. He was lucky to have time with Rex at all.
“Your silence speaks volumes,” Oliver said. “Not sure what he is to you? Worried he’s just using you?”
Ike furrowed his brow. If that was all there was, the using was more or less mutual. “No worries. Just a friend.”
Suppressing a yawn, Ike checked his watch. The lack of sleep the night before was starting to get to him. “Think I’m going to knock off a little early, get out of your hair so you can have your swim.”
Oliver was staring hard at Ike, almost jealously, but that wasn’t quite the right emotion.
Ike stood. “I won’t bill you for the time.”
That appeared to snap Oliver out of it. “Oh, no. Of course not. No, it’s fine. Just...I’d hate to see a guy like you used for a nooner.”
What the what? Ike snorted. “Thanks, Dad, but I’m a big boy.”
The words appeared to stun Oliver. “You don’t care if you’re being used?”
“I’m not a teenager, Oliver. I don’t need to be warned off men.” Ike fished for his keys. The conversation was strange, and he was starting to feel uncomfortable with Oliver’s interest, especially since he didn’t know where it was coming from. “It’s not like either of us are married.”
The barb either found its mark or Oliver realized Ike was growing irritated. “Yeah. I guess. You’ll be back?”
Ike nodded. “In a couple of hours. Yeah.”
He gave Oliver a moment to say something more, but the man just watched as Ike left.
Ike shivered. Rex’s hotel was a two-block walk from the bus stop. The lobby was warm, but the real heat was on the eleventh floor, and Ike couldn’t wait to get up there. After that first booty call, this had become a regular thing, but for a recent mysterious break. He rode the elevator, impatient with the many stops as tourists loaded and unloaded seemingly at every floor.
Whatever Oliver thought of his relationship with Rex—which his employer would know nothing about since it wasn’t something Ike talked about—Ike felt like it had fallen into a comfortable groove. There weren’t any declarations of love, but there was an implied commitment, if only because neither of them appeared to be seeing anyone else.
Ike had visited Rex’s hotel in this manner three or four times a week until recently. Ike wasn’t sure if it was press
ing business that took Rex from town or if it was an attempt to dodge Thanksgiving dinner at the Graveses’. No matter how much they saw one another, or how often Rex visited Kaylee, Ike had a hard time getting Rex to attend taco night or any other of their dinners. Perhaps it was too domestic.
From what little he’d been able to get out of Rex, he was divorced. The woman had a daughter that he’d informally adopted as his own, only to lose his relationship with her when he lost his relationship with the mother. Ike could understand why it would be difficult to be around he and Kaylee’s dynamic. Kaylee seemed put out not to have him around more, but Rex was never unkind about his refusal.
The situation wasn’t traditional, but there wasn’t a lot about Ike’s home life that was. He didn’t need help or a co-parent. He would have liked more time with Rex, but Ike wasn’t lonely. If he got to feeling that way, he’d reevaluate. For now, this was good.
Standing in front of Rex’s door, Ike drew himself up, took a deep breath, and pushed everything from his mind as he knocked.
There was silence on the other side of the door, but Ike had learned by now that Rex never made unintentional sounds. After a few moments, though, Ike could feel that penetrating gaze locked on him through the peephole. Then, lending credence to that feeling, there came the sound of the locks unlatching. A moment later, the door opened to reveal Rex’s tired smile and bright, bloodshot eyes.
“Welcome.” Rex stepped back and swept his arm toward the living area, ushering Ike into his suite with the same aplomb as ever. Despite the dark circles and deep lines around Rex’s eyes, he seemed ready for anything.
Ike entered without speaking in deference to Rex’s policy on unsecured conversation, and Rex locked the door behind Ike with his usual paranoid thoroughness, though Ike didn’t doubt the paranoia was justified. Rex completed some arcane security rituals that he had never explained to Ike, then finally turned and gave Ike that hungry, heated smile that epitomized Rex’s allure.