Cover Up (19 page)

“As for the white.” Kurt waved a hand at the walls. “We’re having a painting party in a couple of weeks. I’d love it if you were there.”

“There’s nothing I’d like better. I’ll try, okay?” Ivan didn’t think he’d be there, and Kurt’s expression said he agreed. Ivan would either be still undercover, or perhaps he’d be dead, if he was wrong about Parker’s role in Razhin’s organization.

He stood. Kurt needed to rest, and Ivan needed to get home—to Parker’s. If he got his ass in gear, he’d have maybe an hour to go through some of those other boxes in Parker’s closet, make sure he wasn’t missing anything before Parker got home from the trauma center. Parker’s volunteer work was yet another reason he refused to consider Parker a lost cause.

“S
O
WHERE
’
S
that sexy roomie of yours?” Alicia poked Parker’s shoulder, and he tried to grin.

“I don’t know. He was gone when I woke up.”

“Well, maybe he needed to go into work. Spending all his time staring at your fine ass isn’t going to pay any alimony, you know?”

Parker looked away. Ivan had already spent a good deal of time with his very naked ass and apparently wanted nothing more to do with it. When would he learn? Sex was sex. Once it was done, he should be able to forget it. Until now, it hadn’t even been that hard, but today, the cold shoulder hurt more than he’d expected. Unlike the few other guys he’d slept with, he truly thought Ivan had liked him, not just been interested in a quick fuck.

“He’s not interested in my ass.” Not now that he’d already had it.

Alicia’s eyebrows rose before she laughed. “You can’t really be that blind, can you?”

Yes, apparently he could. His eyes burned, and he blinked, trying to clear them. “What are you talking about?”

Alicia bent over to pull out her tablet. “Like you don’t know. Shit, I thought Chris was going to have to break up a fight between Ivan and Thom.”

“Thom? What does he have to do with it?” The confusion helped him gain some control over his emotions.

“Holy shitballs. You really are that blind, aren’t you?” Alicia shook her head. “Thom is totally hot for you. Chris said last night was mighty depressing in the apartment, with Thom moping about. It wasn’t hard to see the sizzle between you and Ivan, that’s for sure. We could have cooked steak yesterday with the heat between you two.”

Parker pressed a hand to his cheeks to ensure they weren’t actually on fire. “I had no idea Thom was interested. I thought….” He hadn’t actually thought much, aside from the fact that he assumed Thom didn’t like him. How had he not known? Then again, even knowing he was going to get ditched today, he wasn’t sure he would have picked Thom over Ivan. Maybe not the smartest thing; Thom seemed like a very nice guy, and he was cute. But Ivan consumed Parker’s thoughts.

“Oh, well, I don’t know. It was probably just sex.”

Alicia’s mouth dropped open, and this time Parker was sure his cheeks had lit up. He hadn’t meant to admit that to anyone.

“You had sex with Ivan? I’m shocked and yet, I’m not surprised at all. You need to tell me everything!”

Everything? Jeez, he was already embarrassed and hurt. He stared at Alicia. “He’s not here today. He left the house without leaving me a note. What more do I need to say?”

“Oh.” Alicia gave him a sad smile and squeezed his forearm. “I’m sure there’s a good reason. Don’t you worry. That intensity of feeling just doesn’t go away, no matter what Thom hopes.”

The professor walked into the class, giving him a reprieve. He tried to pay attention, but all he could think about was whether or not Alicia was right and how he was going to explain skipping lunch today. Getting an early start at the center would give him other things to think about.

S
WEAT
poured off Ivan as he collapsed against the door. The day was fucking hot and both of the subway cars he’d ridden on had faulty air conditioning. He also thought someone had picked up his trail, so he’d gotten out early and walked… well, it would have been twelve or so blocks if he’d been able to take a direct route, but he’d meandered with purpose, trying to identify who, if anyone, was following.

He heaved in a few gasping breaths. Running for exercise hadn’t really prepared him for this level of vigilance and paranoia. He’d rather run a marathon or two than constantly feel those invisible eyes at his back.

After popping down to the basement to put his laundry in the dryer—as well as to verify no one was down there—Ivan made a quick round through the house. As he suspected, no one was there. As long as Neil didn’t decide to drop by again without notice, he should have an hour or so to finish his search of Parker’s closet.

He changed shirts and toweled off; no sense in alerting Parker by sweating all over his stuff.

More or less clean and dry, he walked into Parker’s room and headed straight for the closet, despite the large bed lurking behind him. Regret over not getting to share that bed with Parker was ridiculous, and if Ivan didn’t figure out how to turn Parker from his path, well, the guy should have as many nights on a comfortable bed as possible. Prison beds didn’t come equipped with pillow-top mattresses.

Carefully, he lifted down the file box where he’d found the money. A quick look confirmed the money was still there. Finding out where the fuck it came from was a job for another day. He flipped quickly through the files. Parker didn’t have much of a filing system. Deeds and invoices and utility bills for two different properties were mixed together and out of date order. Seemed at odds with the student who was always caught up on his homework, but then, he’d been responsible for all the bills for a relatively short period of time.

Ivan found documents relating to a trust fund that paid for Parker’s expenses, which explained a lot, but didn’t explain the large expenditures for what he presumed was the cottage in Muskoka that Parker had mentioned. He skimmed the purchases, and a pit of despair opened in his stomach. These were indicative of expenses associated with growing marijuana on a large scale. The cottage in Muskoka must be on a large parcel of land. Shit. The money must be from Razhin, bankrolling the conversion. He had less time than he thought to get Parker out of this situation. He might already be in too deep for Razhin to let him go, if the fat packet of cash was any indication.

He shoved everything back into the box and replaced it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was another box on the shelf at the back of the closet. Looked like a mini steamer trunk. He couldn’t imagine anything more incriminating than what he’d found so far, but he might as well check while he was here.

The stiff hinges told him the box wasn’t opened very often. Inside was a scattered mess of photos. As long as there weren’t any photos of Parker posing beside a marijuana plant, there probably wasn’t anything of interest, but that didn’t stop him from rifling through. He saw a couple shots of Parker’s mom, who he recognized from the few pictures Parker had propped on the mantel downstairs.

He skimmed over the others, looking for pictures of Parker, but it wasn’t until he found one with Parker’s mom, her arm wrapped around a young teen, did Ivan realize he’d missed… a shitload of Parker pictures.

Taking a handful out of the box, he walked out into Parker’s bedroom to look at the pictures in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. At least Parker had enough sense to keep the windows closed on days with record-high heat and humidity.

Parker’s younger self was adorable. There were hints of his stunning face in those pictures, but the kid was pudgy, those sharp cheekbones hidden beneath the padding of baby fat. There were a couple of Neil as well, who looked much the same as he did now. He couldn’t find any pictures that appeared to be from the last two years, which presumably was when Parker’s mom had deteriorated to the point where she hadn’t wanted pictures. Somewhere in those two years, Parker had shed probably fifty pounds to reveal the gorgeous guy underneath. The smile was the same, and Ivan touched a fingertip to one of the pictures. Parker’s hesitancy and uncertainty, as well as his lack of arrogance, made a lot more sense now. He probably wasn’t used to being the object of everyone’s attention.

Movement outside the window had Ivan glancing up. Parker was on the sidewalk, almost in front of the house. Shit. He’d completely lost track of time looking at those pictures. Swiftly, he shoved the pictures back in the box and replaced them on the shelf before dashing out of the closet, carefully closing Parker’s bedroom door just as the front door downstairs opened. His glance darted between bathroom and bedroom. He needed a few minutes to calm his rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing, so he opted for the bedroom and closed that door softly as well, hoping to indicate he’d been there for a while.

His ears strained, listening for Parker. The telltale squeak made him hold his breath, waiting for Parker to go into his bedroom. Then he could relax. Think about options.

Chapter 8

P
ARKER
stood for a moment, staring at Ivan’s closed door. He’d gotten home before Parker, which was unusual. Was he having difficulty at work? If insurance agents worked on commission, maybe he was having trouble selling policies. Might explain some of Ivan’s slightly erratic behavior.

He reached a hand out, intending to knock, but the memory of Ivan’s disappearance this morning brought up all his feelings of inadequacy. If Ivan thought they were friends, or at least, slightly more than a one-night stand, he’d confide in Parker. And then he’d know where he stood.

His own bedroom was both comfortable and comforting, but he wanted to be curled up with Ivan on his narrow twin mattress more than anything. Sex was optional. Ivan’s arms around him had eased him so thoroughly, he hadn’t even realized how badly he’d needed someone to touch him, hold him.

With a sigh worthy of the angsty, emo teen he’d been, he pushed open his door and slammed it behind him and threw himself on the bed. He stared at the open door of his closet, the two club shirts crumpled on the closet floor along with their hangers, and frowned.

He usually closed his closet door before he left, a weird hang up he’d not left behind in childhood. He’d hated having the closet door open when he was a kid, the clothes and shoes, so innocuous during the day, became shadows of monsters lurking, waiting for him to sleep. He’d gotten into the habit of closing his closet door and never left it open. Granted, he’d been in an unsettled frame of mind that morning after realizing Ivan had taken off, but it was hard to believe that had been enough to disrupt a habit of years.

Besides, he was also sure he hadn’t touched his club clothes in weeks. Not since the last time he’d gone with Neil and almost gotten mauled. Neil seemed to think he needed to get laid and had introduced him to someone he thought would fit the bill. But the guy had gotten rough. Parker had escaped before too much had happened, a little bruised and smarting under Neil’s derision for not following through. Clubs were never really his thing—if he wasn’t being stared at like a freak, he was being ignored—and he’d managed to avoid all of Neil’s subsequent invitations. If it weren’t for Neil’s business meetings, he’d have had a harder time putting Neil off.

Parker pushed himself off the bed and rehung the shirts. Which brought his attention to the file box on the shelf right above. Alicia’s comment hadn’t left his mind in the intervening days. Should he have opened the cottage this year? It wasn’t too late. The place was strongly tied to memories of his mother—good ones, not like some of the depressing ones that lingered here. It was the reason he’d redone most of the furnishing downstairs and had completely rearranged the master bedroom so it didn’t remind him of times when his mother had been healthy and happy and living in this room.

Once his mother’s health had started failing, they’d stopped going to the cottage. Would going back be better or worse since his mom had passed? Maybe inviting some of his new friends to go might help. He’d told Neil he’d never sell the place, but he also might never go back. Perhaps he’d been a bit hasty, although he could be forgiven. He’d made that pronouncement just weeks after his mother’s death, after Neil had asked him about the cottage.

He was certain he had the name of a company that would go in and get cottages ready for the summer season somewhere in that file box. Couldn’t hurt to give them a call, find out what would be involved and how much it would cost.

He tugged out the file box and took it over to the bed. He flipped open the top, but he didn’t recognize—at first—the wrapped bundles of money. Panicked, he pulled a few out and tossed them on the bed.

With a forefinger, he reached out and touched one, gently, like it might bite. What the fuck was this? He had no frame of reference to even estimate how much money there was. The one bundle had a paper wrapper from the bank, but the other bundles were a mishmash of large bills.

Where the fuck had it come from? If Neil had known about it, he’d have asked if he could borrow it for his damned nightclub. There had to be more than enough here to bankroll the nightclub venture.