Rainbow Briefs

by Kira Harp

Con Preston fidgeted in his seat and mentally zipped his lips shut. At the front of the classroom, the teacher projected a painting from World War II on the screen. Con shook his head. American high school history was about as far removed from the actual sweat and blood and pain of real life as a Harlequin Romance novel. Con had seen dead men, destroyed men, live men with dead eyes, as part of his training. The idealized patriotic drawings in the books seemed almost obscene. Not that he was about to blow his cover by saying so.

  He settled lower in his seat and covertly eyed his target across the room. Nick Stavros. Age sixteen. Dark hair, dark eyes, five foot nine inches of livewire enthusiasm. Bright, fun, full of crazy ideas that he could sometimes pull off. It had been a long time since Con had been like that. Maybe he never had. But he could fake it, and had for weeks, until Nick now thought of Con as his best friend. Con had always been small and looked younger than his years. Despite being nineteen, he fit into this tenth grade classroom seamlessly. At least in appearance.

  The teacher droned on. Con didn't even bother to listen. He wasn't going to be around long enough to take the exam. Already he'd stayed far longer than he really should have.

  His job was simple. Make friends with the son of Takis Stavros, lure him away from the guarded school premises, and call for pickup. The boy's father would be told that the ransom was the secure encryption program Takis had designed for his adopted homeland. Except that Con knew his superiors would never release the boy. They'd keep him alive, close at hand, and milk the brilliant father's brain dry. And if the father refused, Nick would pay the price.

  Con felt his stomach lurch at the thought. He knew exactly how coldly and dispassionately the men in the Salazi criminal empire would deal with Nick. The same way they'd sometimes dealt with Con when he'd failed to meet expectations or attempted defiance. They weren't sadists, they were worse, men who could use pain as a tool because they were without souls.

  “Con? Are you all right?”

  Con blinked away nightmares and looked up. Nick was standing beside his desk, eyeing him with concern.

  “Sure. Fine.”

  “You didn't even hear the bell.”

  Con frowned, realizing that the room was nearly empty. Damn. Spacing out like that could get you killed. Perhaps not in a classroom, but the world was an unsafe place. He made himself relax and grin. “I think I fell asleep. Henderson's lectures could be marketed as a cure for insomnia.”

  “I guess.” Nick slung his bag over one shoulder and gave Con that ridiculous smile, the one that said the world was a happy, sunny place with butterflies and little white clouds. Con hated that smile, at the same time as he was coming to the terrified realization that he lived for it.

  Nick kicked his ankle. “Come on. We'll be late for gym.”

  Con walked at Nick's side as they headed for the locker room. The halls of the exclusive private school seemed suddenly smaller and echoingly loud. And yet not loud enough to drown out the voice in Con's head that said, “You know the consequences if you fail.”

  Stripping in the locker room was fine, as long as he kept his eyes off Nick. But occasionally his gaze would drift over there, until his mind caught up with his preoccupation. Nick was slim and sleek, with smooth hairless skin and lean swimmer's build, adolescent-soft, with just a hint of biceps and quads to come. Innocently sexy.

  Sometimes Con wondered if it was some kind of narcissism that made Nick so attractive to him. Con had been raised to stay looking young. He'd been forbidden to lift weights, allowed only moderate cardio exercise, and his body was a close match for Nick's. Even their hair and eyes were similar.

  Or maybe the attraction was that Nick was the light side to Con's dark coin. Nick was who Con might have been if he'd grown up with two loving parents and money and safety, instead of an addicted mother who died young, and a puppet-master who saw a use for a small clever boy.

  Nick shone. And it was going to be Con's job to turn out that light.

  He tore his gaze away from Nick's back, where it had somehow drifted again, and pulled on his trunks. He brushed his hand over the implanted tracker in his thigh, reminding himself. You didn't defy the Salazi and you didn't escape them. He'd woken that morning to a note on his pillow, inches from his face, with the window and door still locked on the inside. It said simply, “Today.” No threats, nothing more. It wasn't needed. He'd held it in a shaking hand, sweat trickling between his shoulder blades, his breath coming in shallow pants. It had taken all his hard-earned control to get up, get dressed, and walk to the bus.

  Today.

  PE this semester was swimming. Today Con threw himself into it with single-minded determination, forcing his body to its limits and beyond. He swam under water without breath until his vision was dark and sparkling, and the pain in his chest burned out rational thought. Maybe he could just continue like this. Stay under until he passed out, until his body's demand forced him to gasp in water, fill his lungs with fluid. He could drown here and Nick would never know what Con was. Nick would stay in the light.

  Against his will he surfaced and sucked in a ragged breath. The instinct to survive had kept him going through his time on the streets, and the years that followed in the hands of his trainers. It wasn't letting him go now. It was just like the bridge he hadn't been able to jump off last week, and the bus whose wheels passed by without touching him yesterday; he couldn't do this.

  “Wow!” Nick was at his elbow, eyes bright. “You were under for ages! Are you okay?”

  Nick's hand was warm on Con's shoulder. Con blinked his eyes, feeling the sting of chlorine-induced tears. And took one more shaky breath before saying, “I'm fine.”

  The teacher leaned over them. “Preston, that was really dumb. Push yourself too hard and you can black out and drown down there. Some kid did just that in 2009 in England.”

  I'm not that lucky. Con managed to say, “Sorry, Mr. Foretti,” before a fit of coughing took him.

  “Okay, that's it. You're out of the pool.” The teacher reached down a hand to pull him upward. “Stavros, you go with him. Get changed and then make sure he checks in with the nurse.”

  “I'm fine.” Con needed that strong grip to haul himself out of the pool, and his knees threatened to give way as he stood. But it wasn't lack of oxygen. Don't, don't send me out alone with Nick, last class of the day, perfect chance to lure him away. Please don't. “I can finish the class.”

  “Are you arguing with me?”

  “No, sir. But anyway I don't need Nick to babysit me.”

  “You'll do as you're told, both of you. Go on.”

  “Come on, Con,” Nick said warmly, putting a hand under his elbow. “You're still shaking.”

  The teacher turned back to the rest of the class, yelling at them to start swimming lengths, four basic strokes. Helplessly, Con let Nick guide him back into the locker room. He stood immobile as Nick pulled their towels out of their lockers, watching as Nick dried all that warm, smooth, unblemished skin. Golden Nick.

  Nick noticed him staring eventually. His vigorous rubbing slowed and he smiled hesitantly, dropped the towel and ran a hand over his hair. “You're looking... odd. Here. Let me...” He reached for Con's towel and began drying him off, gently rubbing Con's shoulders and back, swiping across his face and down his arms. Con stood still under his hands, every muscle locked and screaming.

  Nick glanced at Con's legs but finally ran out of nerve. He draped the towel lightly around Con's neck and tilted his head appraisingly. “Are you going to be able to get dressed? Do you want to just head to the nurse now?”

  “God, no.” Oxygen deprivation to his brain was the only reason Con could find for suddenly grabbing both of Nick's wrists and shoving him against the locker in a hard, desperate kiss. For a moment Nick's mouth was soft and hot under his own, and then Con pulled back. He let go of Nick's wrists and waited mutely. Whatever Nick wanted to do to him, he didn't care anymore. Punch him, swear at him, let him down gently – at this point it di
dn't matter.

  Nick stared into his eyes and said, “Do that again.”

  “What!”

  “This.” Nick's kiss was fumbling and unpracticed, and all the sweeter for it. He was laughing when he leaned away enough to look Con in the eyes. “I've been waiting weeks for you to do that.”

  “No.” No, no, no. Nick was supposed to push him away and run off mad, not stay and... holy shit!

  Con had lost all sanity as he moved into Nick's arms and opened his mouth, pressing closer, tasting Nick, more vital than air... No!

  He jumped back, far enough to be out of range. “Nick. We can't.”

  “Yeah, this isn't a great place for it.” Nick began toweling his hair as if to keep his hands occupied. “After school then. Maybe we can find a place.”

  It was the perfect opportunity. All Con had to do was say, “I know somewhere. Duck out with me before your driver gets here, and I'll show you.” A few simple words, and Con would live. The cold tiled rooms where the wired electrodes waited with their clips and pins would light someone else's nerves on fire. Maybe Nick's, to make him scream for his father.

  “No.” Con grabbed Nick's wrist and pulled him deeper into the locker room, looking around. There was the equipment storage room. It was locked, but it was the work of a moment to retrieve his lock picks from his locker and open the door. “Come on. In here.”

  Nick hesitated, looking at the picks in his hand, but then grinned and followed him in. When Nick would have moved close and kissed Con, Con held him off with a hand on his chest.

  “Listen. We don't have much time.”

  “And you're wasting it.”

  “Shit. Listen to me. I'm not who you think I am.” Con spoke as softly as he could. He knew there was a listening device in his shoe; it was safely back inside his locker but he didn't know how sensitive it might be. His handler was nothing if not thorough.

  Nick shook his head. “I don't understand.”

  “Your father is Takis Stavros, the cryptographer.”

  “And yours is Don Preston, the tycoon.”

  “Mine was a sailor who went to Mexico after a dishonorable discharge and got his girlfriend pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “I'm not Con Preston, I'm Con Amado. I'm not sixteen, I'm nineteen. And I'm not your friend, I'm the guy who is going to deliver you to hell.”

  “Con?” Nick put a hand toward his face. “What are you talking about?”

  Con dodged it, catching Nick's wrist in a bruising grip. “Listen to me and listen good. I belong to a group called...” He retched, conditioned nausea hitting him. He couldn't say the word, couldn't begin to pronounce it. “Never mind. The important thing is, I was sent to get close to you, make friends with you, and then kidnap you. My bosses want to control your father. If they have you, they have him.”

  “But... you're here to kidnap me?”

  “I was. That's my mission, but I can't. When the bell rings at the end of the period, run, don't walk, to your car. Tell your driver that someone tried to snatch you. Tell them the same group will try again. You need better security than even this special school. And you...” Con grabbed Nick's jaw and squeezed, forcing Nick to stare him in the face. “You need to be careful. Jesus, sixteen years old and you still expect the world to be beautiful and fair and safe. You look at strangers and expect them to become your friends. You have no idea of the risks you're taking.”

  He expected Nick to pull free, but instead Nick turned in Con's loosening grasp just enough to kiss the inside of his wrist. “This one looks like a good risk to me.”

  “Hell.” There was really no time, but there would never be another chance. Con grabbed him, kissing him, furious and needy and wanting just this once to have this – Nick in his arms, his to hold for just this moment. Then he shoved Nick away hard. “Not every man who comes up against you is going to fall in love with you. Get out of here. Go.”

  Nick staggered but held his ground. “So you're a what? A hit man? A spy?”

  “I'm a puppet,” Con said bitterly. “A tool for someone more ruthless than you can imagine. Nick, you have to believe me.”

  Nick was shaking his head. The damned fool. Con fumbled for a way to prove it. To make his point, hard and right now. His lock-picks had sharp tips. He jammed one into his thigh, over the tracker. The blood trickled down his leg.

  Nick grabbed his arm, looking horrified. “What are you doing?”

  Con shrugged him off, turning away so Nick couldn't interfere. The picks were a crappy tool, but he had no time for better. He dug into his muscle, the fascia between the layers, finding that little scrap of treacherous electronics, and levered it free. He held it out to Nick, between bloody, shaking fingertips.

  Nick stared, making no move to take it. Then he dropped to his knees, pressing his towel to Con's thigh. “I don't care. You idiot. I'd have believed you without this.”

  Con's leg throbbed with pain, but it was distant, far less sharp than the pain in his chest. “You need to get away from me. Now.”

  Nick was silent a long moment, looking up at him. “Okay. I'm not that innocent. My father is aware there are risks and he's talked about it with me. I have a driver to chauffeur me around and there are guards on the house – that kind of makes your point for you. It's just... I never suspected you.”

  “I'm damned good. I've trained for this. But if I fail—no, when they know I've failed, they'll try again. You need to go warn your dad, ASAP.” Con took the towel from Nick's hands, pressing it down himself. The blood was already slowing. “Go.”

  Nick stood and folded his arms. “Not without you. What are you going to do while I run to safety?”

  “I'll be all right,” Con lied. “I'll just tell them something spooked you. I'll be reassigned.”

  “Yeah. Look me in the eyes when you say that.”

  Con dragged his gaze up to Nick's, and bit his lip.

  “Come with me to my Dad,” Nick said. “Tell him what you told me. He'll help.”

  “I can't. You don't know.”

  “Know what?”

  “They'll find me. Sure, I can leave this tracker here, but I bet there are more, where even I don't know. They'll find me and if we're together they'll find you too.”

  “So you're just going to go tamely back to them and say you couldn't do it?”

  Was he? He thought about returning with nothing but failure, and his knees grew weak. He leaned against a pile of mats. Maybe once his choices were that narrow, the bus or the bridge would start to look appealing again.

  “Dammit, Con. The look in your eyes! If that's how you feel about going back, what can it hurt to come with me? What's the worst that can happen?”

  They get to you through me? The odds were that the FBI or whoever would take possession of him would be able to find all his trackers, but men could be bribed and there were a lot of ways to locate someone. In any case, he probably wouldn't be allowed to see Nick again. This was the end, however it played out. At least he wouldn't be the person who brought Nick down this way. He hadn't really thought past the moment when he told Nick the truth. “I don't know.”

  Nick moved closer and gripped his arms. “If you come out of the building with me, and get in my car with me after school today, will they... do anything?”

  Con considered it. “No, probably not. Even if they're here watching, they want you alive. Those ex-SEALS your dad employs are pretty sharp, which is why they haven't tried a frontal assault so far. They'll probably hope that shows I'm getting close to you, and that I'll get you away later.” Maybe. That “today” chilled him, and if there was another locater in him, and the two signals moved apart... He closed his eyes. He didn't know how the endgame would play out, once they realized he'd been turned.

  “So that's all we need to do. If we get you and me into the car, we're home free. We'll go back to Dad, and tell him you're with us now and you can give them whatever information you have. It will be cool. They'll keep us both safe, and
we'll be together. It's going to be great!”

  Con looked at Nick's bright face. He just couldn't tell Nick that as soon as he said anything about kidnap or leverage or, if he could force the word out, Salazi, he'd be yanked away from Nick so fast there would be smoke under his feet. He'd be wrung dry, maybe eventually patted on the back, but never, ever allowed near Nick again. It was the way of the world. Con knew how the game was played.

  He was too untrustworthy, too dangerous, too hard, to ever be a match for this untouched boy. But for a little longer he'd stand beside Nick and watch him smile. He'd memorize the way the light danced in his eyes, and the way his lips moved as spoke. Nick in sunlight. That memory could last Con a lifetime.

  “Sure,” he said, taking a deep breath. “That could work. Take me home.”

  ####

 

  In Unexpected Places