Lying Eyes

by Robert Winter

  Jack was behind him. He touched Randy’s shoulder lightly, but Randy shook it off and bent to grab his vest.

  “What is it? That I have a fiancée?” Taking the vest out of Randy’s hands, Jack helped him situate it properly. He settled it on Randy’s shoulders as he waited for an answer. He took a step back, still waiting.

  Randy turned at last and his shield dropped into place. It gave him needed distance, enough to be able to say, “I won’t fuck with anyone in a relationship. Not knowingly.”

  Frowning, Jack tilted his head to the side. “But you don’t understand about Sophie. She knows about me and what I do when I’m out of the country. Out of England I mean. She doesn’t mind.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t mind, but I do.”

  Jack’s voice took on a tinge of anger. “But why? What does it have to do with you?”

  Randy didn’t bother to answer. He pulled on his jacket and checked for his phone and keys. Jack exhaled in frustration. “Will you still let me see your Sunrise then?”

  Disappointment made Randy cruel, and he turned slowly to sneer at Jack. His upper lip curled. “I guess that’s all this was. A way to make sure you could see the canvas.” Jack made a sound of protest but Randy stuffed his gloves into a pocket and crossed the room to the door.

  Without glancing back, he said, “The room is already taken care of. I’ll contact you at the hotel when I’m able to arrange for you to see Sunrise.”

  He left without another word.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As he drove toward Virginia, Randy tried to quell his disappointment and reframe the night with Jack in a way that didn’t leave him so raw. He’d gotten laid. That was what he went to Cuir for on Monday nights, and that’s what he got. It was enough.

  At a stoplight, he dialed his phone and put it on hands-free. He had a promise to keep, even if the one he made it to wasn’t worthy.

  Stop with the bitter bullshit. Randy rolled his eyes at himself, acting like a butt-hurt teenager.

  “Good morning. Thomas Scarborough’s office,” he heard over the speaker.

  “Morning, Anne. This is Randy Vaughan. Is Thomas available for a few minutes?”

  “Oh hello, Randy. Let me check.” Anne put him on hold, but a few second later Thomas picked up.

  “Hey, Randy. How are you today?”

  “Fair to middlin’. By any chance are you and Zachary planning to be home tonight?”

  “I have a meeting that’s scheduled to run late but I think Zach said something about sticking around to study his music for the gay men’s chorus. Their Christmas concert is coming up soon. What’s up?”

  “You remember that painting I convinced you to hang in your bedroom?”

  “Oh, sure. The sunrise one.”

  “Right. Well, I promised an art historian I’d let him take a look at it for some project he’s doing. I was hoping we could get it out of the way this evening because he’s leaving town tomorrow.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll give Zach a quick call to check, and then one of us will let you know. What’s the historian researching?”

  Randy debated whether to tell Thomas that he might be in possession of a genuine, unknown Brousseau, just to hear his reaction. No, fuck that noise. Thomas would freak out and call in a security company or something to make sure the picture was safe. After the events with the stalker who had targeted Thomas and Zachary, security in his condo building had been significantly upgraded. The odds of Fraser being right were astronomically low, so he wouldn’t lay this on Thomas at the beginning of his work day. He’d save it for later, over a drink at Mata Hari where they could laugh about it properly.

  “I think he’s just eliminating some possibilities from a wild goose chase,” he told Thomas. “Catch you later, brother.”

  Randy spent the rest of the drive home anticipating how Danny would react when he pulled in after being out all night. Hurt looks, sulking, a sigh from a moody teenager with a crush—he could only imagine. At the same time, he wondered why he’d gotten himself all twisted up over a stranger from England, someone who would be leaving town anyway in a matter of days.

  Sure, he avoided screwing men in relationships, but it wasn’t like he quizzed every sexual partner for proof he was single. If Randy didn’t know and the guy didn’t volunteer, then he normally was content to turn a blind eye. Don’t ask don’t tell worked just fine for him most of the time. So why should he care that Jack—no, Fraser—was engaged to a woman?

  Because I wanted to see him again before he leaves.

  Fuck it, he thought savagely. They’d had a good roll in the hay, Fraser would return to England, and Randy would find someone new next Monday looking to scratch an itch. If he had to, he’d scratch several times to make sure the memory of Fraser’s body under his hands went away.

  Somebody single, unlike Fraser. Unlike—

  Nope, not going there.

  He tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere, and then encountered a slight pang as he worried about the following week. Would Danny still be around, or would Joe find him a safe placement? He was getting used to Danny’s calm, quiet presence. But if Danny were still around, would Randy have to go through teenage angst every time?

  Well, if Danny wanted to stay with Randy, he’d just have to make his peace with the fact that Randy liked to play with other men. With lots of other men, week after week. There was always someone new at Cuir, and if they were interchangeable and disposable, so much the better. He had a bad track record the few times he’d tried anything other than a simple fuck-buddy arrangement.

  Look at Trevor.

  Shit, he swore he wasn’t going to go there. Randy banged his hands on his steering wheel as his thoughts brought him full circle to Fraser. By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was practically spoiling for an argument. He was surprised to find the house empty because Danny had always been there when he arrived before.

  He glanced around the kitchen for a note and found nothing, but the kitchen itself was spotless and the dishwasher was running. Randy looked over the great room, tapping his fingers on the island as he wondered. The house seemed still. Empty.

  Dammit! He bolted up the stairs and skidded to a stop in front of Danny’s room. The door was closed, so Randy rapped the back of his knuckles on it twice.

  No answer.

  He hesitated with a hand on the knob. Should I go in, or respect Danny’s privacy? Well, it’s still my house. He opened the door carefully. “Danny?” he called.

  Still nothing.

  He pushed open the door to see the bed was made. There was no visible sign of anyone using the room, in fact. Surely he didn’t leave?

  Guilt washed through Randy as he imagined Danny pacing the empty house until he got fed up and hit the road. Where would he go if he left? Back to the P Street Beach?

  He took a deep breath, then opened the closet door. It was full of Danny’s clothes still. Randy released the tension in his arms. Well, thank God. Wherever Danny was at the moment, it didn’t seem like he’d run away.

  Although that was a ridiculous thought. Randy’s house was a haven for Danny, but it wasn’t his home, so he couldn’t run away. All he could do was move on.

  Randy shut the closet, then pulled the bedroom door shut behind him. No need to make it obvious he’d been snooping. In his own room, he decided he needed to take out his frustration and break the loop that had hold of his mind by heading to the gym, so he peeled out of his leathers.

  He left a note for Danny, then jogged the mile to the gym for a grueling chest workout. The session went well, and with a spot from one of his workout buddies he managed to beat his personal best on the bench press by ten pounds. Even that accomplishment wasn’t enough to burn off his bad mood, so he hit the rowing machine for a good long spell. As he slid back and forth on the seat, focusing on his form and the smooth pull of the rope in his hands, he began to find his center. The sweat that poured out of him seemed to take his consternation with it, and thirty m
inutes later he was both drained and calm.

  When he jogged up his driveway again, he saw Danny moving around inside and didn’t bother pretending to himself that he wasn’t relieved. He came through the kitchen door, all sweaty and mail in hand, as the boy called out a friendly, “Hey, Randy.”

  “Hi. What’ve you been up to?”

  “I walked down to the grocery store to pick up some stuff we needed. You go through, like, a dozen eggs every other day.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks for doing that.”

  “I put the receipt and the change in the petty cash envelope you left me.” Randy would have thought everything was fine, except for the fact that Danny wouldn’t meet his eye. “Do you want some lunch before you head into Mata Hari? I was going to make some tuna fish for myself.” Danny opened a cabinet and started mixing a protein shake for Randy.

  He threw the powder, some kale, and an apple into the VitaMix blender as he talked. “I was thinking I’d go over to Clarendon and catch a movie this evening. Can I borrow your bicycle? There’s a new movie I haven’t seen yet.” He poured the shake into a glass and passed it to Randy, still without looking directly at him.

  Randy decided avoidance worked for him too, so he just accepted the glass as a sign things were okay between the two of them. “This is great, Danny. I really appreciate it. Sure, take my bike, but you’ll probably need to adjust the seat. And dress warm. Do you need any money?”

  That got him a quick side-eye, but then Danny grinned shyly. “Nah. I haven’t spent all that cash you gave me at Del’s Diner.”

  “Well, let me know if you run low. Hell, with all the cooking you’ve been doing, you’re saving me a fortune at Del’s. Vonda’s gonna think I’m sweet on another girl now.” Randy was grateful for Danny’s slight chuckle. “We ought to go there for dinner one of these nights so you don’t always have to cook for me. Maybe tomorrow you can come to the bar before closing and we’ll grab a burger.” Danny smiled eagerly. “Okay, I’m gonna take this shake upstairs and grab a shower. And yeah, a sandwich before I go to work would be perfect.”

  Randy climbed to his bedroom, relieved that they’d dodged a conversational bullet. Best thing about being men, he chuckled to himself. He was probably a coward, but he didn’t want to explain anything to Danny. It was almost funny though. He was giving Danny a roof, letting him take his bike, avoiding sex talks, and all but offering him an allowance. It was like having a son of his own. He grinned as he finished his shake and set down the empty glass before checking messages on his phone.

  Zachary had left a message while he was at the gym. “Hiya, Randy. Thomas said you’d like to swing by the condo this evening. I’ll probably be home from work by six and I’m not going anywhere except maybe the pool. Unless you say differently, I’ll look for you around seven-ish.”

  That time should work. Since it was a Tuesday, Mata Hari would be slow and he could leave Malcolm in charge for an hour. He’d need to let Jack—Fraser—know, so he tapped the screen of his phone a few times as he tried to think what to say. He wanted to make it clear this was a one-and-done favor, but he didn’t necessarily want to be an asshole. He’d let Fraser see the painting, then Fraser would head off to Philadelphia or return to England or whatever the fuck he needed to do, and he’d be out of Randy’s life. Okay, he could do this.

  He took a deep breath, then looked up the number for the W Hotel. When the receptionist put him through, the room rang four times before the system clicked over to voice mail. Randy exhaled in relief. Leaving a message was much better.

  At the beep, he said, “Jack, this is Randy Vaughan. I was able to make arrangements for you to see the Sunrise painting this evening at seven o’clock. I suggest you come by Mata Hari around six-thirty and we can drive over together. Please leave a message with me at the bar if you can’t make it. Otherwise I’ll see you then.”

  And done.

  He disconnected the call, glad he didn’t actually have to speak to Fraser. He’d work a few hours, take a break to get to and from Thomas’s condo, then go back to running his bar.

  Don’t wanna talk to Danny. Don’t wanna talk to Jack. Don’t wanna think about—

  Shit.

  In the shower, Randy’s restless mind kept bringing him back to the night in Cuir. Fraser was a good fuck, and his body was hot as hell, but that was all. Yes, he was interested in art and no doubt that was part of the reason Randy found him attractive, but it was One. Fucking. Night. One, like so many, many before that Randy had spent in Cuir or in other leather bars.

  Why was he so pissed?

  He trudged naked back out to his bedroom, still toweling off, then dropped heavily onto a leather arm chair in one corner to look out over his small garden. Danny had done a thorough job of cleaning everything up for the winter, but now the bare trees and the severely trimmed hedges seemed bleak. Randy dropped his head back and closed his eyes.

  Two years earlier

  “Happy ’versary, teddy bear!”

  Randy turned at the lilting words. A handsome, tall man stood in the door of Randy’s studio with a Santa hat perched jauntily over his blond hair. He still wore his airline uniform, and its tailored lines showed his long, lean build to perfection. Sparkling blue eyes flashed his merriment.

  Randy gave him a huge, silly grin as he set down his palette. “Trevor! I thought you weren’t scheduled back through DC for two more days.” He wiped his hands, then reached out to pull him into a hug.

  Against his neck, Trevor murmured, “I managed to switch some routes around so I could be here for this. Six months together! That should be celebrated.” He nipped at Randy’s neck and rubbed a hip against Randy’s crotch.

  Randy growled. “Oh yeah. We can do that. Get your sweet ass back in the house.”

  “I’m gonna start calling you bossy bear instead of teddy bear,” Trevor said, but he turned and scurried away. Randy followed him more slowly to close up, and as he pulled the studio door shut, he noticed a black car parked across the street. He couldn’t recall seeing that in the neighborhood before, and it looked official. Ah well, it was probably nothing.

  Trevor left a trail of clothes across the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom. Randy laughed as he gathered the uniform jacket, tie, white shirt, shoes, belt, and suit pants. By the time he got to the bedroom, Trevor was on his hands and knees, wearing just the Santa hat, white jockey shorts and black socks. He looked back at Randy over his shoulder. “Bet you can’t guess what I want for Christmas,” he purred.

  Twenty minutes later, Randy collapsed onto his back. The sheets were tangled, the Santa hat was on the floor with the comforter, and at least one pillowcase was stained with lube and come. Randy pulled off the used condom and tied a knot in the end.

  Trevor lay face down, seemingly boneless. “Whew,” he murmured into his pillow. “Now that was a celebration.” He flopped over to flounce and wriggle until his cheek rested on Randy’s chest and his hand lay on Randy’s spent dick. “Can we stay in bed all weekend, teddy bear?”

  Randy kissed the top of his blond head and grinned. “What about food?”

  “Oh, we’ll find someone to deliver. I don’t want to move until Monday morning.”

  “I’d love that, Trev, but I’m going out of town tomorrow. Remember? That’s why we said we were going to celebrate after I got back and you finished your run to Italy.”

  “I couldn’t wait that long to get me some teddy bear lovin’. Where are you going? Maybe I can change routes again and meet up with you somewhere.”

  Randy shook his head. “I don’t think your airline flies to Oman.”

  “True. Oh well. I’m scheduled through DC from Milan on Thursday. You back by then?”

  “Yeah, I should be home Wednesday night, so let’s plan on dinner.”

  “Mmm, dinner. Now you’ve done it. I’m hungry. How about you?”

  “I could eat.”

  “You did eat. Oh, wait, I thought you were talking about my ass.” Randy snorted and Tre
vor gave him a sweet kiss in response. “I taste good on you. Okay, here’s my survival plan. How about I order us some food while you take a shower?”

  Randy asked, “You don’t want to get in the shower with me?”

  “Aw, sweet thing. Course I do! Let me get the food ordered and then I’ll be in to scrub your back.”

  They were downstairs twenty minutes later, eating Chinese takeout, when the knock came on the front door. Well, it wasn’t so much a knock as a pound.

  Insistent. Official.

  Trevor turned extremely pale, his blue eyes widening as Randy went to open the door, where he froze at the sight of two people in black suits. More suits stood farther down the front path, and easily six black cars were parked at the curb and blocked the street. The man closest to the door held an FBI badge in his face. The woman with him had her hand on her weapon.

  “Mr. Vaughan? We have a warrant for the arrest of Trevor Mackenzie.”

  Randy turned in time to see him running toward the door to the back garden. “Trevor, stop!” he called. Trevor no sooner had the door opened than two more men in black suits materialized and grabbed him. The agents at his front door pushed their way past, and Randy stood down, hands visible and at his side, as more FBI poured into his house. Trevor was hauled off, and the way he avoided Randy’s gaze stunned him into compliance with whatever the FBI wanted to do.

  The next hour was a blur. The agents had a warrant to search his house, and then they asked Randy to come with them. He didn’t seem to be under arrest, but as he had no idea what was going on, he went. In an interview room, a young agent brought him coffee. Two more agents came in, the ones who knocked at his door, and laid a stack of paper on the table.

  “Agent Vaughan, my name is Agent Dannels,” the woman said, then gestured at her partner. “This is Agent Kennedy. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “What’s happening?” Randy asked. “Why was Trevor taken out in handcuffs?”