The Spy's Love Song

by Kim Fielding

  The middle-aged barista from the Black Cat stood looking at Jaxon and Reid, her gray hair in a bun and her arms crossed over a considerable bosom. She didn’t appear thrilled to see them, and she sure wasn’t wowed by the famous Jaxon Powers, but she didn’t kick them out. She spoke briefly with Reid, gifted Jaxon with another skeptical look, and left the apartment.

  “She says there’s food in the kitchen,” said Reid. “And clothing in the bedroom.”

  “God, please let there be a shower with hot water.”

  Jaxon’s prayer was answered—a little on-demand water heater was attached directly to the shower—but he didn’t take advantage right away. He prowled through the apartment first, which didn’t take long. A small living room and a smaller bedroom, both stuffed with oversize wooden furniture likely older than his parents, and a kitchen unchanged since the apartment was built in the sixties. The antique refrigerator wheezed like an old man climbing stairs, the stove looked like an electrical fire waiting to happen, and the square table wobbled. But as promised, there was food—bread, sausages, tomatoes, and a dry, nutty cake—and a few bottles of beer. Jaxon and Reid ate heartily.

  “Think we can both fit in that shower?” Jaxon asked while helping Reid clean up after the meal.

  “I’m barely going to fit by myself.”

  True enough, if disappointing. “I’m going to supervise. I need to check out your wounds.”

  Reid snorted. “I doubt that’s all you’ll be checking out.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  As soon as Reid undressed, Jaxon actually did examine his injuries. Even though Reid had been shirtless at the castle, the light had been poor, and now Jaxon was able to see the rest of him—lots of big, ugly bruises topped with scrapes and cuts. Reid’s injuries looked a lot like Jaxon’s had when he was eight years old and, wearing nothing but cutoffs and flip-flops, took a corner too fast on his bike. He’d slid across the pavement and down an embankment before nearly landing on railroad tracks. It had hurt like hell, and his mother had practically drowned him in antiseptic, but he survived. He figured Reid would too. Well, until Talmirov caught them.

  Their host had kindly supplied them with soap and shampoo. Jaxon sat on the toilet while Reid used the cramped shower, and although a degree of ogling might have taken place, that wasn’t Jaxon’s primary motive. He simply didn’t want to be separated—not even by a single room—during their remaining time together.

  “You have scars,” Jaxon observed loudly over the din of the running water. He hadn’t had an opportunity to notice them previously, but they dotted and crossed Reid’s body like runes.

  “Army. State Department.”

  “You’ve had a lot of adventures.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Were they worth it?”

  Reid rinsed the shampoo from his hair before answering. “I guess. I think I’ve done some good.”

  “If you could go back in time, would you do it all the same?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Nobody can go back.”

  True enough, but it was still an interesting question. “I’d still come here, to Vasnytsia. Knowing what I know now.”

  Pausing, soap in hand, Reid squinted at him. “That’s crazy. If you’d stayed in the States, you’d be at one of your fancy hotels, earning millions of dollars, sleeping with adoring fans.”

  “Been there, done that.”

  “You’re going to die, Jax. Soon. Maybe you’ll rot in a prison for a while first, but—”

  “I know. But my statement stands—I’d do it again.”

  Apparently concluding that Jaxon was too nuts to converse with, Reid turned his back to him for the rest of the shower. When he was finished, he left the water running, stepped out, and gestured for Jaxon to take his place.

  Jaxon expected Reid to leave the bathroom, but he didn’t. While Jaxon showered, Reid leaned against the wall with a towel around his waist and waited. The water pressure wasn’t great, but it still felt wonderful, and getting truly clean was a treat.

  Their host had left toothpaste and new toothbrushes as well. No razors, but that wasn’t a big deal. He could do his last gig with stubble. During all the time it took Jaxon to work the tangles out of his hair, Reid watched silently. Jaxon found himself wondering what it would be like to have hair so short that you didn’t even need a comb.

  They abandoned their old clothing, quickly folded, in the bathroom and found clean clothes in the bedroom—tighty-whities, T-shirts, and tracksuits. Reid’s tee was gray, while Jaxon’s was white with four clenched fists and a Vasnytsian word, all printed in red ink. “What does it say?”

  Reid’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “We resist.”

  “I like that.”

  “Not as fancy as your usual concert clothes.”

  “Better than fancy. I don’t usually dress up much anyway.” He grinned. “Are you doing okay without your suits?”

  “I like suits.”

  Jaxon pulled on his underwear but left the rest of the clothing for the morning. He would have remained naked, but if the army stormed in during the middle of the night, he didn’t want everything hanging loose.

  “But do you like suits because you know you look hot in them or because they’re sort of a uniform?” He was willing to bet it was the latter. It was like some of the singers he’d met—they’d pierce their faces, wear locks around their necks, and tease their dyed hair into mohawks, just to make sure everyone know they were punk musicians, dammit. Not that Reid was a poser, but his suits said Important Government Guy.

  “I just like them,” Reid insisted.

  The bedroom held a tall double bed, a shorter single, and an oversized armchair that would have worked for sleeping. But when Jaxon climbed into the bigger bed, Reid joined him minus underwear. Apparently he didn’t care whether he flashed the invading military.

  Even with their bodies squashed together, Reid made no sexual overtures. And honestly, Jaxon didn’t want sex either. He’d had plenty of fucking in his life. Tonight he wanted something… bigger. Like listening to Reid’s breathing in the darkness and rubbing his nose against the soft brush of his hair.

  He thought Reid had gone to sleep, but then he shifted and exhaled a sigh. “Sometimes I miss them,” he said. “My parents.”

  Treading carefully, Jaxon kept his voice low. “Yeah?”

  “We weren’t close. They weren’t demonstrative types. Me either.”

  Jaxon gave him a quick hug. “Apparently I have a thing for strong and silent. Anyway, you’re demonstrating pretty nicely right now.”

  “Maybe I can get better with practice. My parents never had the chance—they both died young.”

  Jaxon guessed that words of comfort wouldn’t have been welcome, so he held Reid tighter instead, wrapping his arms around his middle and pulling his back up close to Jaxon’s front. He placed a soft kiss on Reid’s nape. “You’ve already made yourself into something damned amazing.”

  “I just do my job. I’m nothing like those beautiful people you sleep with.”

  “I don’t sleep with them—I fuck them. Not the same thing. And here’s the deal. When they come to me, they’re not really looking for me. They want the superstar, the guy they listen to on iTunes and wear on their T-shirts. I’m a trophy for them. And maybe they want some of my money too, or they hope fame will rub off on them. I don’t blame them for it—but it’s just a commercial transaction.”

  “What do you get out of it?”

  Jaxon had to think that over. “An itch scratched. A little company and adoration. I don’t blame me either.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re not just scratching my itches, Reid. And I think I annoy you too much for you to adore me. But God, that under-the-skin thing? You’re deeper than that. I think you’ve worked yourself all the way into my heart.”

  “Why?” Reid demanded after a moment. “Because I look good in a suit?”

  “You look good in anything, but no. Because… when you
look at me, I get the feeling you see me. Not the rock star.”

  “I see you,” Reid agreed.

  “You and I, I think we’ve both spent our lives bouncing around alone. You put on a uniform to protect yourself, I play my music and float from hotel to hotel. Nobody gets near us, ’cause then they can’t hurt us.” Jaxon chuckled. “Did your dossier mention that I’ve spent time in therapy?”

  Reid snorted.

  After another light kiss, Jaxon continued. “I feel like I can let you near me. You’re safe.”

  “Safe?” Reid squirmed around to face him, although the room was too dark to see much of anything. “I’m the most dangerous person you know. I’m worse than Talmirov. Without me, he’d have listened to you sing and sent you on home with a pile of money and fabulous parting gifts.”

  “Nevertheless, I feel safe with you.”

  Reid growled softly and clutched Jaxon’s shoulder. “Don’t you get it? We don’t get to ride off together into the sunset and decorate a cute little bungalow in Malibu. We have no future.”

  “Then can we enjoy the now? ’Cause we’ve got that.”

  A long silence, followed by a sigh. “Yes, I guess we do.”

  They made out for a while, kisses deep and tender, but they didn’t have sex. Instead Reid asked Jaxon to sing to him, and Jaxon did, the quiet notes surrounding them like cotton clouds. They both knew those clouds would clear in the morning, but for now they felt soft and warm and sweet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  JAXON didn’t need an alarm to wake up early; anxiety did the job quite nicely. But he didn’t get up right away, choosing instead to remain in bed and watch Reid sleep. Reid frowned and muttered in his dreams, and Jaxon wondered if his nightmares were about recent events or those from his childhood. Had anyone ever tried to soothe those nightmares away?

  During Jaxon’s third therapy appointment, Dr. Vega had given him a children’s book.

  “The Ugly Duckling?” Jaxon had asked, turning the slim volume in his hands.

  “Read it. We’ll talk about it next week.”

  Although he was bemused, he’d obeyed. And when he and Dr. Vega discussed the reasons why the little swan’s family had rejected it, Jaxon had reached a better understanding of his parents and the people in his hometown. They weren’t cruel or hateful people; they simply had no idea what to do when fate plopped a swan into their duckish lives. Maybe he’d never entirely forgive them, but he could understand them, could fathom why they’d treated him so poorly, and that had helped his own healing.

  Jaxon would have bet his life—what was left of it—that Reid had never been in therapy. Some part of him must blame himself for the mistreatment by his family. Maybe that was why he’d become an intelligence agent, to make up for his imagined sins. But now he also held himself responsible for his mission’s failure and Jaxon’s predicament. Jaxon wished he could help Reid see his own worth.

  But there was no time.

  Reid startled awake and stared up at Jaxon. “Why are you looming?” Reid asked groggily.

  “I’m thinking about ducks and swans.”

  “Not platypuses?”

  Jaxon smiled and traced Reid’s lips with a fingertip.

  This time it didn’t take an argument to bring them together, and Reid didn’t put up even token resistance as Jaxon explored his body with hands and mouth. The only protest came when Jaxon got out of bed. “Where are you—”

  “Be right back,” Jaxon said and ran to the kitchen, thankful for the apartment’s small size. It took only a minute to prepare what he needed.

  When Jaxon returned, he came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, breathless at the sight of Reid naked, spread out. Waiting for him.

  “What’s that?” Reid asked, pointing at Jaxon’s hand.

  Jaxon grinned and tilted the little dish so Reid could see.

  “Butter? You’re making breakfast now?”

  “I’m offering you breakfast in bed.” With a waggle of his brows, Jaxon launched himself onto Reid.

  A few pats of butter didn’t make the best lube, but it was far better than nothing. Reid seemed to enjoy applying it, and Jaxon liked having it applied. Due to their potentially short futures, safer sex practices seemed unimportant. Besides, it was lovely to have this sexual encounter be entirely skin to skin, a luxury Jaxon had never indulged in. And God, the heat of Reid inside him, the fire in Reid’s eyes as he tortured Jaxon with slow thrusts, the salty taste of Reid’s skin… those sensations nearly overwhelmed him. Best yet, however, was the aftermath, when they held each other in a sweaty, buttery tangle and felt their slowing heartbeats sync.

  “If we weren’t doomed,” Jaxon whispered, letting the thought hang there, unspoken.

  “We’d be doomed anyway. I can’t… I never stay put for longer than a few weeks.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Our lives could never mesh, not for long.”

  Jaxon looked at him solemnly. “I’d retire if it meant I could keep you.” Huh. He hadn’t consciously realized the truth of those words until he said them out loud. “Would you do the same?”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “What else would I be?” Reid said it angrily, but his eyes showed hurt and fear.

  Jaxon framed Reid’s face with his palms. “You’d be you. Reid Stanfill. That’s more than enough.”

  Glowering, Reid pulled away slightly. “You’re talking something serious when we’ve only known each other for a few days.”

  “We could spend a year doing dinner and a movie and long walks on the beach and I wouldn’t get to see the real you as well as I have already. I guess being on the lam tends to strip away layers of pretense. We know each other better than anyone else on this planet knows us. And I like what I know.” But since the discussion was moot anyway and he didn’t want to argue, he kissed Reid’s nose and got out of bed. “I need another shower.”

  Once they were clean and dressed and fed, the apartment held little to distract them. Shelves held a few books, but Jaxon couldn’t read them and Reid said they were boring political tracts anyway—simplistic stories about the supposed achievements of Talmirov and his father. Reid and Jaxon tidied up the small messes they’d made, including gathering up the bedding for the laundry. Jaxon could have entertained them by singing, but he wanted to save his voice for that night. And for once, he wasn’t at all in the mood to write new songs, probably because he knew he’d never perform them. They spent their time leafing through several photo albums full of strangers, wondering who the people were and what had become of them.

  At midafternoon, Reid cooked a meal and badgered Jaxon to eat, but he wasn’t hungry.

  Between the apartment’s small size and all the big furniture, there wasn’t enough room to pace properly, and since the windows had to remain curtained, it precluded brooding while gazing through the glass. Out of desperation, Jaxon attempted to pick fights with Reid, who refused to take the bait.

  By nightfall Jaxon was ready to claw his own skin off. But then someone knocked softly on the door and he desperately wished he had another few hours alone with Reid. Maybe Reid felt the same, because he cast Jaxon a long look before opening the door.

  It was time to go.

  THE apartment where they’d spent the night was several miles from the main square where Talmirov had decreed the concert would be held. Although now there was a slightly different agenda. Fedir and Lera accompanied them and confirmed that the word had gotten out—anyone who was interested in Jaxon Powers or in getting rid of Talmirov should assemble in the square. The tech guys were ready to do their thing, hijacked internet and all. Now the only problem was getting Jaxon and Reid to the square in a timely manner without being intercepted.

  “We can’t take the truck?” Jaxon asked as they descended the stairway.

  “No,” Fedir answered from two steps below. “Trucks are not normal in city center at night.” He looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Tonight you go l
ike real Vasnytsian.”

  It turned out that meant traveling by tram.

  During the endless city tours, Jaxon had seen the trams creaking around on miles of tracks. They looked old, dirty, and tired, and they always seemed to be crammed with weary locals. They certainly wouldn’t be ideal hiding spots, seeing as they had big windows, trundled slowly, and made lots of stops. But Lera was hot on the idea. “Nobody looks for Jaxon Powers in trams.”

  Reid shrugged. “Doesn’t seem any riskier than anything else.”

  Jaxon made sure his jacket was zipped, and did his best to disguise himself. Since he’d lost his hat somewhere along the way, Fedir gave him a new one when they reached the bottom of the stairway. He also handed Jaxon a scarf, a welcome accessory against the evening chill.

  The tram stop was only a block from the apartment, and several people already waited there, perhaps on their way to evening work shifts. None of them spoke, and they paid no attention to the newcomers—Lera and Fedir in coveralls, Jaxon and Reid in tracksuits, all of them trying to look mired in drudgery instead of like fugitives.

  After about ten minutes, the tram rattled up. A few passengers got off and everyone at the stop climbed on. If anyone paid, Jaxon didn’t see it. Either they all had passes or the citizens of Starograd were terrible fare evaders. Or maybe public transportation was free. As if that mattered to him now. All the seats were taken, so they held on to poles in the middle, Lera and Fedir doing their best to block Jaxon and Reid from view.

  After starting with a lurch, the tram bumped and squeaked, stopping every few blocks. Even though the temperature was cool, the air inside felt too close, thick with the smells of cigarettes, sweat, and food. It made Jaxon long for the open spaces of the Sandhills, where the sky was enormous and the winds blew offensive odors away. He wished he could go there again and watch the grass rippling like a golden sea, with hawks soaring high above and storm clouds scudding in from the west. He used to love watching the lightning in the distance and feeling the hairs on his arms stand on end. Hearing the thunder as it simultaneously vibrated through his body as if he were a drum.