Cover Up (6 page)

“Neil, is that you?” Parker levered himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, you’re awake.” Ivan smiled at him.

“Um, yeah.” Ivan had come home and started cooking without waking him? He must have been solidly out. He’d slept poorly the night before and woken up with a headache, which had only gotten worse after his unintended nap.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Did you want to get plates out?”

Parker frowned. He wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t just go back to bed for the night, but he couldn’t recall the last time someone had cooked for him. Well, Ivan hadn’t cooked
for
him, but he’d cooked and was going to share it. The dull throb in his head kept him from making a decision, and he rubbed at his temple.

“Are you okay?” Ivan set down the saucy spoon and turned toward him.

“Yeah, just a headache.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

When was that? He’d been running late when he woke up. “Pizza last night, I guess.”

Ivan’s eyes widened. “Last night? No wonder you have a headache. Get some water and sit down.”

He did as he was told, but he couldn’t shake his confusion.

Slumped at the table, head in hand, he didn’t hear Ivan approach until a plate of spaghetti slid in front of him. He glanced up to see Ivan settling into the seat across from him with a smile.

“Hope you like pasta.”

Parker smiled back. His mom used to make spaghetti for him when he was a kid. He shoveled a mouthful in and savored the taste. Pasta fit the bill of easy to make and cheap, but he worried about its effect on his weight. One day wouldn’t hurt, though.

“Yes, thanks.”

“So, who’s Neil?”

The warmth that had swept through him curdled slightly at the mention of Neil. They’d been friends since middle school, and Neil was still an important part of his life, even if lately they’d not really seen eye to eye.

“He’s… uh… a friend.” Neil had also been his first boyfriend, but he wasn’t sure how Ivan would react to that information. Parker had never been in a position of having to come out to a man like Ivan, and when that man was his roommate, it made it even more awkward. He wanted Ivan to like him, and he didn’t want it to be uncomfortable for either of them.

A pause hung in the air before Ivan spoke. “How was your day?”

“Uh, mine?”

Ivan chuckled. “Yes, yours. Who else is here?”

Parker’s face heated. He really had to control the stammering. He’d never had a roommate before. One who was sexy and cooked him dinner and asked about his day was completely unexpected.

“Fine. I had two classes today, and I went to the library.” He stuffed another forkful of pasta in his mouth and tried not to moan. How was it meals cooked by someone else always tasted better?

Ivan chewed and swallowed before licking his lips, and Parker found his gaze riveted to Ivan’s mouth.

“What are you studying?”

“Right now, sociology, mostly.” He wanted to be a physiotherapist, but he needed his bachelor’s first.

“Mostly? Haven’t you chosen a major yet?”

Parker stirred his fork around on the plate, making swirls in his sauce. He probably shouldn’t eat too much more. “I’m a little behind. I took some time off to help with my mom, and when I came back, I wasn’t sure I could deal with a full course load, so I’m only back part time.”

Which had been a mistake. If he’d taken more classes, maybe he wouldn’t notice how empty the house was, or he wouldn’t be around as much to hear Neil ask why he was even bothering with school at all. Of course, if Neil knew where Parker had started spending a lot of his time, he’d probably pitch a fit.

“That’s understandable. Are your classes going well?”

Parker grinned. “Yes, actually. Straight As so far.”

Ivan grinned back. “Good for you. Oh, I forgot to ask. Did you want a glass of wine?”

“We don’t have any wine.”

“Eh, I brought a few bottles in my stuff.” Ivan cocked his head to the side. “You are old enough, aren’t you?”

“Yes, way old enough. I’m twenty-two.”

“Oh, twenty-two,” Ivan mocked gently as he left the table to grab a bottle from the cupboard. “An old man.”

“Why, how old are you?” Older than Parker, for sure, but not old. Not by a stretch.

“Thirty-four.” The practiced way Ivan extracted the cork made Parker feel like an uneducated kid.

Crimson liquid sloshed into a pair of wine glasses Parker didn’t recall having. He didn’t understand the faint grimace Ivan had on his face. Thirty-four wasn’t old, especially not if you looked like Ivan, but twenty-two seemed inexperienced in comparison.

“By the way, I never asked, what do you do for a living?” If Liz at the housing office had mentioned it, he hadn’t paid attention.

“Insurance salesman.”

Huh. Ivan was way too good-looking to be an insurance salesman, but somehow it made him seem more like a normal guy.

Ivan sat and proffered a glass with a flourish. Parker took it and sniffed. He’d never really drunk wine before, but it smelled good. “What is this?”

“It’s a light merlot. I don’t know shit about wine, but there are a few that I like. This is one of them.”

The unconcerned comment relaxed Parker, and he took a sip. He couldn’t taste any of the things he’d heard used to describe wine, but he liked the explosion of taste and the warmth as it burned down his throat.

“It’s good.”

Ivan lifted his glass. “To a new roommate.”

The fresh warmth in his stomach had little to do with the wine and everything to do with Ivan’s attention. He knew this wasn’t a date, he knew Ivan was straight, but he could pretend for a bit, couldn’t he?

“To a new roommate,” Parker whispered and raised his own glass to clink against Ivan’s before taking another sip. Contrary to Neil’s opinion, advertising for a roommate was the best idea he’d had in a long time.

“So, what kind of movies do you like? Maybe we could watch something after dinner.”

Parker grinned. Wasn’t a date, but all dates
should
be like this.

Chapter 3

I
VAN
managed to find a seat at the back of the bus in the corner. Having his back and side protected suited him very well this afternoon. Four hours of roundabout public transit for a one hour appointment with a psychiatrist hardly seemed worth the effort. Especially since he had to expend more mental effort than he’d expected to hide what he was doing on Martelli’s and the department’s behalf. Undoubtedly the shrink would take a dim view of the truth, but Dr. Sanchez also hadn’t been impressed with his half-assed, evasive answers. At this rate, he’d be on admin leave for months.

Wasn’t it enough he’d relived the shooting in his dreams? He had to rehash the whole thing in the appointment too? That’s, of course, where the evasion began. Because he didn’t see Dmitri in his dreams, he saw Parker. He’d met him mere days ago and yet he dreamt of shooting Parker, of desperately trying to stem the bleeding, trying to coax his heart into beating again. How could he tell Sanchez that? He wasn’t supposed to know Parker and couldn’t even explain to himself why Parker had invaded his dreams like this. Parker was a job like any other.

Then, Sanchez had stuck his nose in Ivan’s personal life. The man hadn’t expressed any hint that he disapproved of Ivan’s sexual orientation—and after the shit Ivan had been through since the shooting, that would have gotten him a swift punch in the face, doctor or no. The lack of a significant other shouldn’t impede his progress any, although he couldn’t deny the thought of going home and sacking out on the couch, maybe watching another movie with Parker, held a great deal of appeal. Anything that didn’t involve talking about his fucking feelings, for God’s sake.

The appointment had left him flayed and vulnerable, and he wanted someone to get in his face—beyond normal public transit rudeness—so he could throw his weight around a bit. Land a punch or two. Indulge the hot flares of anger that flooded him at unexpected moments. But he was too close to Parker’s place. Drawing any attention from the police would be foolish and dangerous.

Ivan reached up and pulled the bell. The bus lurched to a stop, and Ivan swung out of his seat, pushing his way through the Friday evening crowd.

A heavy-set man with acne-scarred cheeks glared at him, and Ivan glared back.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man growled out, thick Russian accent almost obscuring his words.

Ivan frowned and kept going, unsure if the bulge that hit him was a concealed gun or not. He exited the bus but turned to stare back. The Russian man stared out the window at him, gaze never leaving him as the bus moved on.

Shit. Coincidence? Or had he been followed?

Ivan clenched fingers that were suddenly bloodless and cold. Surveying the street, he spied a coffee shop and hightailed it inside, ordered the largest coffee on the menu, and commandeered one of the seats by the window. While he sipped, he stared outside, assessing each passerby for threats. He couldn’t afford to bring any suspicious characters back to Parker’s place. If Parker’s criminal associates connected him with the cops, or decided Parker was a threat, one or both of them would die.

“Would you like another coffee, sir?”

Ivan looked up. One of the baristas was standing by his table, a concerned look on her face.

“No, I’m fine, I just got….” He frowned. The cup he’d wrapped his hand around was cold. Liquid sloshed when he lifted it; he’d barely drunk any. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty.”

He’d been here two hours. How the fuck had that happened?

“Thanks.” He threw a few dollars on the table and darted out the door. No one seemed to pay him any attention, and he walked the last couple blocks to Parker’s house, flicking occasional glances over his shoulder.

O
NCE
inside, he shut the door firmly and leaned back against it, eyes closed. Losing his focus like that, or, more to the point, focusing so intently he’d lost track of the world around him, wasn’t like him. Not at all. Was this how it ended? Not anything nefarious but his own mind rebelling against the fiction and making him his own worst liability?

“You’re home late. Busy day at the office?”

Ivan jumped at the unexpected voice, but when he opened his eyes to see Parker’s sweet face and warm smile, his tension dissolved. He might be making himself crazy, but he was at least making headway with one part of his assignment. Parker already treated him like a friend.

“Uh, yes. Busy. Takes more time on public transit.” Ivan concentrated on breathing steady and even. No sense in broadcasting his heightened awareness to Parker—just the sort of thing to make criminals suspicious.

“I suppose so. I don’t mind it much, but I guess if you’re used to driving, it would suck.” Parker shrugged. “There’s some leftover mac and cheese if you’re hungry. It’s nothing like your pasta, but there’s only so much I can cook. You’re welcome to it.”

Mac and cheese. He wasn’t interested in doing any grocery shopping, not without a car, but pasta two nights in a row was a bit much. Surely there was something else in the pantry. Still, something about Parker’s words struck a chord.

“Have you lived here your whole life?” Ivan pulled in another deep breath, straightened, and headed for the kitchen, Parker on his heels.

“Yes, me and mom lived here. It was my grandmother’s house.” Huh. That explained Parker’s ownership of the house. One minor mystery solved.

“And you don’t drive?” Because that would make it quite difficult for him to distribute any merchandise anywhere, unless his sole distribution was taking a messenger bag onto the university campus. If so, the roommate-undercover thing would be huge overkill. Parker wasn’t even big enough to be small potatoes.

Parker leaned back against the counter, giving the casual appearance of a magazine model at ease for a photo shoot, pelvis thrust out enough to draw the eye to his crotch but not enough to be crude. The young man seemed unaware of his posture, but the graceful pose couldn’t be an accident. He had to be deliberately enticing Ivan, which meant Ivan hadn’t been nearly as successful in his straight-man persona as he’d thought. As much as he’d like to take Parker up on the unspoken offer, he disliked the notion Parker would just casually offer himself up to his new, older roommate.

“I don’t really like to drive in downtown traffic, but I still have my mother’s car.”

So Parker did have a car. Ivan would have to find out where he was keeping it, because he’d need to take a look there, as well.

Ivan rummaged in the fridge for the makings of a simple omelet, then began chopping vegetables.

“You don’t want the mac and cheese?” Parker’s voice was wounded, and when Ivan looked up, a faint shadow of hurt darkened his eyes.

“I’ll have it with my omelet.” Gross, but he didn’t like feeling as though he’d kicked Parker’s puppy. “I’m pretty hungry tonight. There’s not enough there for dinner.”

Just like that, Parker’s sunshine returned, and Ivan smiled in automatic response.

“Oh, okay then. So, how was your day, besides busy and late?”

Ivan’s jaw slackened a bit. He remembered this—sharing his day—with Colin. It had been a pleasant way to unwind—prepping dinner, talking about their day—although Ivan couldn’t talk much about open cases. He’d been missing it a lot longer than the eight months he and Colin had been broken up, though. If he could recall when they’d stopped being interested in each other, he’d probably be able to pinpoint when their relationship had broken, file the information away for his next foray onto the relationship roller coaster. But he’d never expected to recreate that interaction with a suspect.