by Clancy Nacht
The guy laughed. “You don’t know me well enough to get that, or even close to that. Call me what you want.”
“Are you offering to be my guy?”
The guy chuckled and typed G-u-y into the contact area. “Everyone needs a guy. Sure.”
Lance caught the phone when Guy tossed it to him and stared at it as if it had transformed into something else. “I don’t know how I feel about this. I don’t need a guy. I don’t disappear people.”
Guy gestured toward where Vernon lay. “And yet…”
“This isn’t my mess.” Lance raised his hands in protest.
“Really? You’re the one here.”
“Because Corey…”
“Keep the number. It’s like a gun. Better to have it and not need it then to need it and not have it.”
Lance looked at his phone and sighed before pocketing it.
Guy grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good boy. And a burner. Same thing. The water you’re wading in is deceptively deep.”
“I’m getting that feeling. Any more advice?”
Guy headed into the other room and called back, “Never leave loose ends.”
Lance peered in after him. Guy was pulling a plastic sheet from a bag on the other side of the bed.
“She won’t come forward. If she does, I’ll deal with it. There’s nothing that can’t be spun.” Lance projected confidence, trying to cover how in over his head he felt.
Looking up from his work, Guy scanned Lance’s face. This time his smile was far subtler. Sorrowful. “You’re adorable.”
How was Lance supposed to take that? It didn’t sound like a compliment. Still, it left him flustered, so he turned his back to cover it “Do you need anything else from me?”
“Address of where you want the body delivered. One death in bed, to be delivered in three hours or less, guaranteed.”
Lance expected Guy’s glibness, but it still jarred him. Reality was settling in, leaving Lance creeped out. He texted Corey for the address, got an immediate answer, and then gave it to Guy.
Guy returned to wrap the old man in plastic, then rolled him over gently before he used cleaning supplies to tidy up what death had left on the mattress.
It didn’t even faze him.
When Guy glanced up, he blew Lance a kiss. “Seriously, burner phone.”
“Right.” Lance glanced around the room, dizzy, and then headed for the parking garage, head still spinning.
He passed several bars on the way back to his office. It was early, but after encountering a dead body and the sort of man who knew what to do with one, Lance felt like he deserved a drink. Maybe five.
There was wine at his office. If Talia was there, maybe she’d drink with him. If she’d been up all night, technically it wouldn’t be day drinking.
Maybe.
He wasn’t sure how that worked.
Once inside, he was greeted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. Talia stood at the kitchen counter hunched over a box of Tiff’s Treats. “Women usually get flowers. Are cookies a gay thing?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe it’s a closet case Republican thing. I don’t know. Cookies. Hm.” The cookies were, indeed, from Elliot. With a thank you note. They smelled great, but Lance’s stomach turned sour at the gesture, at the food, at all he’d been through in the past twenty-four hours. “What do you think is a good pairing for chocolate chip? Rioja?”
“Rioja goes with everything, but I’m sticking with coffee if you don’t want me napping on my desk.” Talia plucked out a cookie and then licked melted chocolate off her fingers. “Day drinking, huh?”
“Yeah. I need you to hack into the Driskill and kill a record for a stay last night.”
“Hm. Haunted Driskill get another ghost?”
When Lance turned, Talia’s amused expression had turned to alarm. “Oh. Anyone I know?”
“Vernon Scott.”
She shook her head. “I see.”
“He’s headed home. Wife’s out of town. It’ll be staged. Also, you know anything about burner phones?” Lance uncorked a bottle of Rioja and poured himself a glass.
Talia’s eyes glittered. “Oh. We gonna be that kind of business now?”
“Better to have a phone and not need it…”
She sighed. “Pour me one of those, too. I’ll work on your records.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Lance’s phone kept buzzing. Corey. He turned it off after Gretchen brought them lunch and then spent the afternoon watching YouTube videos of cats, trying not to think too deeply about closeted senators and rich old men dying in the arms of sex workers.
Maybe Corey was calling regarding business, to check in with him about the plan. Lance didn’t care. He needed some time with the situation, to sit with it and decide his own course of action.
Public relations was highly reactive—a big part of its appeal. There was always another fire to put out, and Lance rarely had time to think too hard about his own life. It was a superficial way to live, but painless. Now his business had become personal. Not only did he not know how to handle it, he didn’t want to.
Yet, the idea of not seeing Elliot again was almost too much to bear.
That kiss. The feel of their bodies together…
Sure, Grindr guy scratched the itch for a night, but it had been a long time since Lance had been interested in someone. It hurt as much now as it had then.
He poured another glass of wine, stomach grumbling as he stood. Lunch had been hours ago. It was dark out, and he was probably too wine-soaked to drive home.
Cookies sounded like an okay option, but they still represented the weirdest present he’d ever received after an aborted fuck. Lance considered asking Corey what that was about, but then he’d have to talk about the rest. Lance wasn’t ready for that.
In a way, the gift was touching. He could imagine Elliot struggling, wanting to send something. Flowers would send the wrong message—Lance would’ve been furious and embarrassed if he’d had to endure a dozen roses or the like. What else was there?
But cookies. It reminded Lance of being on the swim team. When they’d made it to the finals, the spirit squad had shoved treats into his locker. He still remembered the young ladies’ hopeful looks, all glossy-lipped and groomed to perfection, anxious to garner favor for a date to the next dance.
Looking at Elliot that way, the gift seemed almost charming, but no. Elliot was a senator, not a high school girl hoping to impress a guy she could show off.
And Susan…she had to know, didn’t she? Maybe not about this instance, but she had children with Elliot. Even if she didn’t know about Lance, she had to know about Elliot. Talia had known.
Talia.
Lance changed direction from the kitchen to her office. She’d napped under her desk after they’d eaten, but had she left when she woke up?
The room was dark. It would’ve been either way. As Lance reached for the light, hairs rose on the back of his neck.
He held his breath, listening for the low, steady rhythm of Talia’s sleeping. Nothing.
Nothing at all, though Lance knew instinctively he wasn’t alone.
Who else could be in the house with him? Gretchen would announce herself. The PIs, perhaps because of their need for stealth otherwise, usually came in like a herd of elephants. Talia wouldn’t fuck with Lance like this.
The air crackled with the presence of another human. People were on a certain frequency, one Lance could practically hear.
Or he was just imagining it. Drunk, right? And he had been at the Driskill, a hotel famed for its ghosts. He’d never believed any of those stories, but…
No. He attributed such tales to moments like this one, knowing someone else was present but not knowing who.
He couldn’t hold his breath and listen forever. He had to take a chance. Maybe he’d turn the light on and have a mess to clean up, but if he was right, that risk seemed a small price to pay.
All at once, Lance whirled, broke
the wine glass on the doorframe, and plunged the shard into the darkness. Resistance. Bingo.
“Fuck!” The other person staggered back as Lance switched on the light.
“Guy?”
Chapter Three
“Not very friendly, Lancey.” Guy wrapped an arm around Lance’s shoulders as Lance helped Guy to the kitchen.
“You’re familiar with front doors, right? People who ring the bell, come through those, they get friendly greetings. You come in another way, you get what you get.” Lance had been aiming for center mass, but the glass shard had stabbed Guy’s side. Either Lance had been off, or Guy was quick.
Could’ve been both.
“Didn’t want to disturb. You seemed hard at work.” Once in the kitchen, Guy stripped down to his trousers, baring a toned chest with a myriad of scars. By comparison, this latest injury looked paltry, but it would need stitches.
“If I’d known you were coming to do a job review, I would’ve prepared a better shiv.” Lance cleared the counter. “I assume a hospital visit isn’t in the cards.”
“For this scratch?” Guy pressed a wad of paper towels to his bleeding side. It turned red almost immediately. He shrugged. “I can deal with it. Got a sewing kit?”
Lance rolled his eyes. Adrenaline had numbed him to the situation, but if Guy’s intention had been to kill Lance, he’d have been dead by now. “That depends on whether you’re going to tell me why you’re here or not.” He patted the empty kitchen island.
Guy obediently hopped onto it and lay down. When he was settled, he reached up and ruffled Lance’s hair with the same startling familiarity that had bothered Lance earlier in the day. “Corey was worried about our lost little kitten. Someone should tell him his kitten’s got claws.”
“Corey would tell you that he’s too old a cat to be fucked by a kitten.” Lance smirked and went for the first aid kit on top of the fridge.
Guy grabbed more paper towels and dabbed off his abdomen. “Depends on the kitten. I’d have said that about myself up until five minutes ago.”
“You don’t grow up gay in the South without learning a few moves.” Lance opened the kit, which included a few after-market extras, like a needle for stitches.
“Oh come on, you didn’t learn those instincts from a high school bully.”
“Not a high school bully, no.” Lance shot Guy a look and raised an eyebrow. “Poking around my psyche may cause unsteady hands. I’d hate to leave a scar.”
“That would be tragic.” Guy fingered what looked like an old bullet hole by his heart. “You’re a pretty interesting guy for a PR hack, Mr. Gatsby.”
Lance disinfected the wound, smirking at the soft hiss he elicited from Guy. “You’re just trying to get on my Christmas card list.”
Guy chuckled and then stared at the ceiling while Lance stitched his skin. It only took six stitches, as the sharp glass left a clean wound. Lance covered it with gauze, taped over it, and gave the bandage a light pat intended to make Guy twitch.
All Lance got out of Guy was a flared nostril. “Who are you, really?”
“Lance Gatsby, PR hack. You want a glass of wine?”
“No.” Guy sat slowly and then gathered his clothes. “That first glass was enough for me.”
Lance laughed manically. Once he’d started, he didn’t stop until Guy wrapped strong arms around him.
“Shh, Kitten. You’re all right.”
Lance relaxed into the clammy crook of Guy’s neck. “Objectively speaking, being comforted by a contract killer that I just stabbed is counter to that statement.”
Guy tightened his grip briefly. “Fair enough. Could be worse.”
“How?”
“Contract killer could’ve stabbed back.”
“Why didn’t you?” Lance tensed, ready for the belated blow.
“No one paid me for that.” Guy released Lance and ruffled his hair again.
“Guess I got that going for me.” Lance looked up into those huge, dark, mysterious eyes.
When Guy smiled, they crinkled at the corners. “For now, Icarus. Get your stuff. I’ll drive you home.”
“Gonna tuck me in?” Lance slipped from Guy’s arms with a suggestive little smirk. “But first, I need to clean up. Otherwise Talia’s going freak when she gets in.”
“All right.” Guy took the cleaner Lance pulled from under the counter and the roll of paper towels. His gaze moved over Lance appraisingly. “You know, I’m like a vampire. Once you invite me in…”
“Nonsense. I didn’t invite you into my office.” Lance grabbed the broom and dust pan to head for Talia’s office.
“Businesses are different from one’s home.” Guy winced as he bent over and sprayed the blood and wine on the floor. He got to his knees to mop up the mess with paper towels.
After a few moments of silence, Guy said softly, “I’ll break your heart.”
Would he? Lance wasn’t even sure that he was interested. Rallying, he shot Guy a wink.
“That wasn’t the part of my anatomy I was inviting you to engage with. Anyway, there’s little proof that portion of my anatomy exists in the way you imply.” Lance swept the fragments of crystal that were clear of fluid and gathered them into the pan, oddly vulnerable considering he’d just stabbed his companion.
Guy shook his head as he wiped the floor. “You wish that was true, but the only one who believes that is you.”
Lance stopped sweeping and glared at the back of Guy’s head. “I can see myself home.”
Guy exhaled and stopped cleaning. His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Kitten.”
“Get out.”
Instead, Guy resumed scrubbing while Lance seethed. When everything was cleared up, Lance got a plastic garbage bag and they threw out the wads of bloody paper towels.
Their gazes didn’t meet again until after Guy had fully dressed himself in the kitchen.
Lance stared fixedly at the hardwood, but he could see Guy moving toward him peripherally. He didn’t fight Guy’s approach, not even when Guy grabbed Lance by the shoulders and shoved him against the fridge.
Their gazes locked in the split second before Guy kissed him. The clinch was passionate, but not as rough as Lance expected, not as angry or hungry as with Elliot. Somehow it felt more like an apology than a sexual advance.
Then Guy was gone, vanishing into the night, and Lance took the trash outside to the bin.
✽ ✽ ✽
Later, after a pot of coffee, when the festivities further up Sixth Street had ended, Lance drove home and slept a few hours. When he returned to his office, Talia wasn’t in, but evidence she’d been around was on his desk in the form of a few burner phones. Lance put them away and then checked in on Gretchen.
He’d expected her to be in court, but the intellectual property case she’d been arguing for had settled early. He found Gretchen waiting on him to write a press release. He lost himself in setting up the news to go out on the wire, leaking the information to blogs so they could have the scoop, and chatting with the CEO about giving statements to the press.
It was, all in all, a good day’s work. A busy day. One where he could sink into the steady activity of tech work and not think about the events of the past few days.
One of his private investigators—Marcellus, a heavyset black man in his forties who still maintained his military cut years after his body softened—checked in, and they discussed installing an alarm. Whether or not Lance would go to that length was a good question.
Either way, it was child’s play for someone like Guy to slip through an alarm. Leaving cameras on would potentially subject Lance to hackers, but almost anything would. Lance already had tape over his laptop camera, but that didn’t protect him from auditory monitoring.
Up until now, Lance had been small potatoes. The usual precautions had been plenty. People who wanted to find him had always known where he was, but this… He’d been arrogant. He was attracting attention he didn’t want to attract, and not just from married men.
Not long after dark, the front door opened. Lance cursed himself for not locking it at close of business.
Corey’s voice rang through the building. “Lance?”
Lance looked at the floor, debating the merits of hiding under his desk, but that wouldn’t make the problem go away. “In my office. Can you lock the door behind you?”
Corey’s heavy footfalls echoed on the hardwood. Then the sound of the door bolt slamming home filled a sullen pause. Moments later, Corey clomped his way into Lance’s office. “Worried about visitors?”
“Not really. Every so often people get turned around looking for their cars after dinner. They’re pretty polite, but I’d rather not deal with it.” Lance closed his laptop and gestured at one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“Ah. My guy said you two had a little run-in last night. Sorry about that. He was just supposed to do a welfare check and get back with me.” Corey hefted his weight into the leather chair. “It wasn’t meant to be so interactive.”
Lance tilted his head. What had Guy told Corey about their meeting? Though Lance was curious, he didn’t want to talk about it.
Shame burned. He’d considered letting that man fuck him. A stranger.
All right, so Lance wasn’t exactly the pearl-clutching type, but Guy... He was a murderer for hire, plain and simple, and Lance had let himself be charmed.
How embarrassing.
Recovering his dignity, Lance said, “It’s fine.”
“Elliot was very concerned by the way you tore out of there the other night.”
“Was he?” Lance sipped his tea. He should probably offer some to his guest, but he wasn’t in the mood for guests or this conversation, nor what Corey being here implied.
“Of course he is. We all are, Lance.” Corey leaned on one side of the chair, his elbow on the arm rest. “Past few weeks you’ve been part of our team. Elliot’s gonna announce his candidacy in a couple of days, and then we’re all going to be one big happy on the road. That was the plan, remember?”
The choice of words made Lance wince and look away. “You don’t really need a full-time public relations person traveling with you, do you?”