The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks (22 page)
Watching him, Nick’s brows drew together. “Eat.”
They hadn’t talked since they’d returned from target practice. Nick assumed Perry was sulking, and he had no intention of giving into that, but…he missed the easy companionship.
He was getting used to it, getting used to Perry being around. Perry looked up. “I can’t when I’m nervous.”
Unimpressed, Nick said, “You’re always nervous. You need to replenish your nervous energy.”
Perry nodded, picked some more at his food.
Nick sighed. “What’s on your mind?”
He thought he had a pretty good idea, so he was taken off stride when Perry said, “That was true about your wife, right? You were really married?”
“Hell yes, I was married.”
“But you…”
Nick gazed into the Bambi eyes and said harshly, “Are you asking if you were the first guy I’ve been with? Don’t be dumb.”
Perry’s eyes darkened. His mouth went soft and hurt before he managed to control his face. Stonily, he said, “I didn’t think you learned those moves by osmosis. I just wondered if you considered yourself gay or what.”
Nick nearly laughed at the osmosis comment, but he realized that if he laughed at Perry now, it could likely end here. And maybe that would be the wisest thing -- the best thing for Perry before this went any further, and the kid did something silly like convince himself he was in love -- but Nick found he couldn’t do it.
He said calmly, “Yes. I’m gay. I married when I was younger than you are now. I didn’t think I had a choice back then.”
“And then…?”
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It was obvious Perry didn’t know what questions to ask, and Nick said a little more gently, “I grew up. I learned that there were other choices and other ways to live.”
Perry was watching him steadily. Nick sighed. “Marie -- my ex -- and I knew we’d made a mistake within a couple of years. She found her way of dealing with it and I found mine. I wasn’t always as careful as I should have been, and it resulted in” -- Nick took a deep breath. This was still hard to admit even to himself -- “me getting kicked out of the navy.”
“They fucking dishonorably discharged you?” Perry’s shocked outrage was
unexpectedly sweet. The kid’s eyes were bright with anger -- too bright -- and Nick recognized with a jolt that for the first time in his entire life someone was about to shed tears on his behalf.
“Hey, hey.” He reached out and covered Perry’s fist where it lay on the scrubbed oak table. “Listen, I was stupid. I knew the risk. I thought it was worth it, and I’m not going to kick now.” He gave Perry’s thin hand a squeeze and let it go. He was surprised to find himself smiling. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“Yeah.” Perry expelled a breath. “Bastards,” he said fiercely.
Nick laughed -- and about something he never thought he’d laugh about. “Eat your dinner, Foster. I don’t like my hard work going to waste.”
* * * * *
After a minute or two, though, Nick looked up. There was a glint in his gaze that warned Perry Nick had seen the sketch he had begun from memory at Watson’s.
“You’re wasting your talent on a mug like mine,” Nick informed him.
Perry said, “You’ve got a great face.”
Nick reddened and returned to his reading without comment. Perry sketched for a while -- it gave him the excuse to stare at Nick as much as he liked. It was clear that Nick was totally absorbed in his reading, looking forward to California and his new job -- his new life.
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Perry said, laying the pad aside.
Nick looked up then. “Take the Sig and stick close to the house.”
Perry grimaced. “I can’t see that there would be any danger at this point. Everyone and their grandmother knows about the tunnels now.”
“We don’t know why Raymond Swiss was killed, and we’re guessing that Tiny was killed because of his big mouth. We could be totally off the track on all of this. And even if The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks
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we’re not, neither death necessarily has a damn thing to do with Shane Moran’s missing loot.”
“What else could they all be looking for? Dembecki searching the gazebo and Rudy Stein checking out local history around that period?”
“Dembecki is unraveling faster than a ball of yarn, and Teagle, who did know about the passageways, turns out to have been interested in a different kind of jewels.”
Perry made a face. “Don’t remind me.”
Nick grinned, his face unexpectedly young in the soft lamplight. “Just sayin’.”
“Yeah, well don’t.”
Nick laughed.
“And what about Stein?” Perry asked. “He was doing all that research on this area back in the thirties.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“We could ask him what he was researching,” Perry suggested.
He was half kidding, but Nick said thoughtfully, “Yeah, we could at that.”
Then, apparently losing interest, Nick returned to his reading.
Perry went downstairs and walked briefly around the front yard, sticking close to the house. The pistol in his jacket pocket was awkward and heavy. He felt ridiculous wearing it.
No way could he shoot someone. Nick just didn’t get it.
Irritably, he glanced back at the house and saw Nick’s figure outlined in the window of the tower -- watching him. Perry’s irritation melted in foolish warmth.
* * * * *
He glanced over his shoulder and said brusquely, “You can take the bed again. I may decide to take another look around later.” As Perry opened his mouth to object, he continued, “This is what I’m trained for, okay?”
So that was pretty clear. They were not sharing a bed. This afternoon had been…well, whatever it had been, it clearly wasn’t going to be a regular thing.
“Okay,” Perry said. “Good night.”
“Night,” Nick said curtly.
Perry went into Nick’s bedroom and changed into his pajamas. He sat down on the edge of the bed and listened to Nick moving around in the other room. Then the lights went off.
He sat there for a few minutes more, and then he went down the hallway.
“Nick?”
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Nick’s form rose up from the sofa, a dark shadow moving through the other shadows.
“What’s wrong?” The warm weight of his hands rested on Perry’s shoulders. Perry’s heart ached, thinking of the skillful and pleasurable things Nick’s hands had done to him earlier that day.
Never again?
“I just thought…there’s plenty of room in that bed.”
Nick was very still, his breath warm against Perry’s flushed face.
He said quietly, flatly, “Listen, Perry, I’m leaving in a week or so. I won’t be back.”
“I know.” Perry smiled with an effort -- he didn’t know if Nick could see his face in the quicksilver moonlight, but he hoped he heard it in his voice. “No strings. It’s just sex.”
There was a funny pause. Nick said, “It sounds wrong when you say it like that.”
Perry didn’t -- couldn’t -- say anything.
He could feel Nick’s hesitation -- but not reluctance, surely? Nick said, “I just want us to be on the same map.”
“Absolutely,” Perry assured him.
Still Nick didn’t move. Then he said slowly. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”
“I like sleeping with you,” Perry said. “I don’t want to waste time talking.”
* * * * *
Nick’s body covered Perry’s, and he could feel Perry’s fast and frantic heartbeats against his chest. Fast as the frightened pound of something small and gentle -- a rabbit or a fawn. But when he pulled back to study Perry’s face, he could see the shine of Perry’s eyes and the gleam of his teeth, and he was smiling, not scared, just excited. Nick’s mouth covered Perry’s, and Perry’s lips were warm and soft and welcoming. His breath was light and fast, and it seemed suddenly, strangely precious to Nick.
A surge of unexpected emotion tempered his -- considerable -- lust.
He gathered Perry to him closely, warmly, feeling velvet soft skin and the silky hair of Perry’s chest and groin. Perry wrapped his arms around Nick, holding him back tightly, opening up to Nick’s kiss -- Nick didn’t generally kiss other men, but somehow it was different with Perry. He liked his taste, he liked the softness and eagerness with which he responded to the press of mouths. He stroked him, enjoying the touch of strong bone beneath thin, delicate skin, and Perry murmured approval.
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Nick settled between Perry’s legs, Perry moving instinctively to accommodate him, and again he sensed no anxiety as they rocked together. Perry was turned on and right there with Nick as their bodies changed pace, temperatures rising. Perry’s cock was prodding Nick’s belly and Nick’s cock…
He told himself to slow down…although Perry was making it difficult for him as his mouth latched onto one of Nick’s nipples, turning it pebble hard with a flick of his tongue.
Perry’s mouth was trailing down the taut line of Nick’s throat, the muscular planes of his chest. Go slow, Nick warned himself, because Perry was all theory and imagination, and the reality was a bit more painful.
He wrapped an arm around Perry and rolled over so that now Perry was on top. He could feel the younger man’s surprise. Nick was a little surprised himself, but he stroked Perry, kneaded his ass cheeks, again taking time, reassuring by touch. With his free hand he reached for the lube, applying it liberally to that tight -- very tight -- little hole, turning this into something sensuous.
Perry’s initial stiffness melted away, and even when Nick unwrapped the latex, there was no discernable anxiety, no second thoughts. They fell back into the rhythm, lulled by the drive of longing, the pulse of desire, Nick was as careful as he knew how to be, pushing slowly but steadily at the wall of resistance.
Perry panted and then whimpered, but he didn’t retreat -- he pushed down onto Nick’s cock -- stubborn, insistent, shivering with a mix of wanting and hurting -- and then Nick was in. And not moving, not taking was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. He held himself in check, taking the time to soothe and pamper until it was Perry who initiated, a little awkwardly, but Nick met him, let him set the pace, and soon they were caught up again in that frantic tempo, the push and pull, the drag and draw, that slow, delicious friction rapidly building to something frantic and ferocious until at last they tumbled off the edge into the deep end of ecstasy.
They found themselves at last leaden limbed and catching their breath on the beach of a new uneasy understanding.
* * * * *
uniform gazed keen-eyed into a future that had surely come and gone by now.
“See,” said Perry. He nudged Nick who studied the billboard with a sardonic smile curling his mouth.
“I think nowadays the slogan is accelerate your life.”
“Hoo-boy!” Perry said.
“Hooyah,” Nick agreed, amused.
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The morning was bitterly cold. The weatherman was prophesying snow for the
weekend, although the skies were blue as the belly of an iceberg. Nick and Perry had woken early, fucked lazily and lovingly, and decided to go into the village to see what the sheriff had turned up.
Not that Nick expected a lot of cooperation from the sheriff, but it never hurt to ask --
or push. Hard.
A gust of icy wind rattled down the street, blowing the Christmas lights strung through the trees lining the sidewalk, and Perry began to cough.
“Come on, Camille,” Nick said. “Let’s get you some cocoa.”
They went inside the bakery -- the same one, Perry pleasantly informed Nick, where Mr. Watson had died -- and Nick got a coffee for himself and cocoa and glazed doughnuts for Perry.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes; stay here where it’s warm,” he said briskly, and with that he was gone, vanishing down the street with that quick, purposeful stride.
Perry sat down at one of the little half tables scrunched against the wall beneath a Norman Rockwell calendar and dunked his doughnuts in the cocoa, watching the Christmas shoppers on the street outside
Fifteen minutes passed with no sign of Nick. There was no need to be nervous. It had probably taken him longer than he had expected. If anyone could handle himself, it was Nick. Nor would Nick forget about him and drive back to the estate. Perry’s anxiety persisted.
He stepped outside the shop, scanning the busy streets.
“Hey, buddy.”
Perry turned. A big man in a blue parka was shoving a paper his way. At first he thought it was a flyer, but then he realized it was a photo.
“You ever see this broad before?”
Perry stared at the man’s craggy face. Something about him was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him. He stared at the photograph.
The woman in the picture was young and thin-faced. Her raven hair was styled in one of those big hairdos, her makeup red and harsh.
“Well?” the man demanded. “You seen her around?”
Now Perry remembered him. He was the ugly looking customer from the diner.
Perry concentrated on the woman’s bone structure, mentally erasing the eyeliner, the ugly hair… His gaze narrowed. Holy…!
It was Jane maybe six or seven years ago. She looked harder, grimmer -- and yet there was something haunted and vulnerable in her painted face.
“You do know her,” the man said, watching Perry alertly.
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