by Lynn Lorenz
“Well, then. Test results will be sent to an address you provide or you can pick them up. If there is any reason for you to return, we’ll let you know. If not, I’ll see you back here in a year.” Another smile and he left.
The nurse pulled Sammi’s arm out straight.
“Now, let’s get some blood.” She pulled a rubber tube out of her pocket and tied it around his arm. “Make a fist and pump.” Sammi gritted his teeth as the band tightened, cutting off his circulation.
She searched for a vein and Sammi braced himself.
He’d never thought going to the doctor would hurt so much and he wasn’t even sick. At least, he didn’t think he was sick.
Like the doctor said, the blood test would tell everything.
Chapter Seven
The phone rang and Mitchell answered. “Mitchell Collins.”
“Mr. Collins. Someone is here for you.” The receptionist’s voice wavered.
“Who is it?” No one ever came to see him at work.
“He said to tell you Donovan sent him,” she whispered, sounding more than a little scared.
Mitchell’s blood froze. Donovan? Here?
“I’ll be down shortly.” How he managed to sound normal was a miracle.
Mitchell hung up and rolled his chair back. How the hell had this guy found him?
He groaned. Of course. The break-in. The bastard had been in his house, searching through all of his things. The fact he knew who Mitchell was and had come to his office didn’t bode well.
Shit. He did not need this crap and certainly not at the office.
Mitchell headed to the elevator. All the way down, dread filled him as he leaned against the wall. He locked his knees to stay upright, gathering his courage.
The door slid open and Mitchell stepped into the large reception area. A round desk stood in the middle of the atrium, couches and tables arranged around it. At the window, with his back to Mitchell, stood a huge man. Light reflected off his shaved head, and his massive shoulders and arms said he could crush more than just beer cans. No wonder Sammi didn’t want this guy to catch up to him, or for Mitchell to go toe-to-toe with him, either.
“I’m Mitchell Collins.” He didn’t extend his hand, but stood with his arms at his sides. Sammi had said the man carried a gun. For a second, Mitchell wondered if he’d be shot down right here in the waiting room.
The man turned, and cold, steel gray eyes fell on Mitchell. There was nothing behind them—no emotion, no signs of humor, just coldness.
Ruthlessness.
A killer’s eyes.
No wonder the receptionist was scared. The guy scared the shit out of Mitchell.
“You have something that belongs to Donovan.” His deep bass voice rumbled. “He would like it returned.”
The receptionist was staring at both men, her head moving from one to the other, her eyes wide. Mitchell prayed she was calling security.
“I don’t think it wants to go back.” Mitchell wanted to keep this entire mess on the down low, but it seemed it was going to play out here. “Tell Donovan to forget about it.”
“Donovan wants his property returned or else.” The man took a slow walk around the perimeter of the room. He reached the desk and with a careless flick of his hand, he swept a large vase filled with flowers onto the floor. It shattered, the boom echoing, and the receptionist jumped and muffled a scream behind her hand. Hitting the keypad on the phone, she began dialing.
Mitchell hoped security or the cops would get here soon. Like before this big bastard killed him. No matter what, Mitchell wasn’t turning Sammi over to anyone. Especially not this thug.
“Tell him to call the police and report it stolen.” Where the hell all this bravery was coming from, Mitchell had no idea, but the words had just come out, as if someone else had control of his mouth.
Another flick of the hand and a lamp exploded on the marble tiles. The poor girl leaped from her chair and ran toward the elevators. Where the hell was security?
Mitchell stood his ground as the big man advanced.
“Donovan prefers to take care of these matters in private.”
“This isn’t exactly private.” Mitchell motioned around the room.
“This is a request.”
“What was last night?” He stared into the man’s eyes.
“A repossession.” Not a glimmer of a smile or any other emotion showed on his face. He was like a fucking robot. “Next time, it’ll be a takedown.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Donovan knows where you live, where you work, and what you are.”
At the unveiled threat, Mitchell’s eyes narrowed then darted to the half dozen other people, including Ms. Jane Walker from H.R., who had gathered at the commotion.
Shit. Double shit and crap.
She gawked at the big man, then her stare slid to Mitchell and her eyes narrowed.
“Tell Donovan to stay away from me. He can’t have it back.”
“Over your dead body?” One side of the goon’s lips curled up in a wolfish grin.
Mitchell swallowed. “Something like that.”
Security arrived, thank God. The big man grinned at the gathering crowd. The guards didn’t seem to know what to do with him.
“It would be my pleasure to ensure that happens, you fag,” he sneered.
All heads swiveled to Mitchell. Dozens of eyes widened. Fuck, he’d just been outed at work in front of a half dozen co-workers.
Could this get any worse?
Donovan’s henchman sauntered through the crowd. Everyone stepped away from him, even the guards. He pushed open the lobby doors and walked away, as if he had nothing better to do.
Mitchell, unsure of what to do, bent down to pick up the shattered pieces of the vase and the damaged blooms. Water, ceramics and glass covered the slick tiles. He’d need a towel to mop this mess up.
He waved away the receptionist who’d come over to him. Mitchell could feel everyone’s gaze burning into his back and the destroyed waiting area. How was he going to explain this?
“Here, let me take those.” The woman gathered the flowers from him, and he gave them up, still too stunned to grasp it all.
“I’m so sorry. Really. I don’t know who that man was.”
She gave him a sad smile. “It’s okay. I needed some excitement today.” She shrugged. “I’ll take care of this.” Then she motioned behind him.
Mitchell stood, inhaled, then turned to face the crowd, staring at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“Mr. Collins, come with me.” Ms. Walker found her voice and motioned him to the elevator as the receptionist kneeled down and began picking up the mess.
Mitchell sighed and followed. This definitely counted as ‘one wrong step’.
The ride up to her office was tense and silent. What she had to say to him would be done in the privacy of her office, but he knew what was coming. By now, the events that had just occurred downstairs would be making its journey along the office grapevine.
He trailed behind her as people in the cubicles they passed sat up and took notice. In her office, Mitchell didn’t wait to be asked to sit. He slumped into the chair. His hands shook and he grabbed the arms of the chairs to quiet them.
“Can you explain what just happened?” Ms. Walker rubbed the bridge of her nose as if dealing with Mitchell gave her a headache.
Ha. She should feel the pounding in his head.
“That was unfortunate.” Mitchell shook his head. “I’ve never seen or met that man before today, I swear to you. If you didn’t know before, I guess you know now. I’m gay. That thug is someone who works for my boyfriend’s ex. Seems I’m caught up in a complicated love triangle.”
“Right. You people are certainly flamboyant, if nothing else. All high drama.” She pursed her lips at him. Mitchell gritted his teeth at her comments. He’d about had it for today, and this just might be the last straw of his very thin control.
“If you mean homo
sexuals, that is a generalization,” Mitchell pointed out. Okay, some of the gay men he knew could be guilty of that, but he certainly wasn’t, and neither were most of his friends who were gay, like Brian. “And a bit homophobic.”
Ms. H.R. twisted her lips and rolled her eyes. Rolled her fucking eyes! Mitchell narrowed his and stared at her. Fuck this.
“Look, just say it. I’m really tired and that bastard worked on my last nerve.”
She nodded, and for a moment, regret flashed in her gaze, then it hardened.
“I’m sorry to say it, Mr. Collins, but your employment here is terminated. That type of display will not be tolerated. Bringing your sordid sex life to work will not be condoned.”
Mitchell stood. He’d had enough and he didn’t intend to listen to some speech about inappropriate behavior. This was bullshit.
He drew himself up and put his shoulders back. He didn’t want to beg for his job, but if he had a scrap of a chance to salvage his career at the company he had to try.
“Ms. Walker, in the last twenty-four hours my apartment has been vandalized, my tires slashed, I’ve been chased from my home, my life threatened, and I’ve been outed at work. Now you’re firing me. My life is going down the crapper in a flush of cosmic proportions. I’m sure somewhere inside you there is an iota of humanity, so I’m going to ask you to reconsider. I value my career and had no intention of stepping out of line.” Mitchell swallowed. “I wish you would think about this again.”
She raked her gaze over him and he could see the dislike in her expression. Maybe that regret had been about not firing him sooner. He just bet she thought ‘all the good ones are taken or gay’.
“I’m sorry. My decision is final. You have thirty minutes to clean out your desk and leave the building.”
Mitchell left her office.
Those same people who watched him go to her office tracked him down the hall to the elevators.
It was a long ride up to his floor and the elevator seemed to stop on every floor as he endured the stares of everyone who got on or off. He had to force himself to stop wondering if each person knew he’d just been fired.
Mitchell wove his way to his cube.
On his desk sat a box of tissues and a small bottle of baby oil.
So they’d heard, at least the gay part.
Ignoring his co-workers’ high school antics, he gathered his few personal possessions, then shoved them into a plastic bag he pulled from his bottom drawer. He picked up his duffle bag and shut off his computer with his free hand. That done, he left. At the elevator, a small group of his co-workers, people he counted as his work friends, waited for him. His boss was not among them, nor was he anywhere to be found.
“It’s just wrong, Mitchell. We can’t believe they’re doing this to you.”
“You should fight it. Take them to court. It’s discrimination.”
“Hang in there. If there is anything you need, let me know.”
All the kind words and worried smiles disappeared as the door to the elevator shut and whisked Mitchell on a nonstop ride to the bottom.
* * * *
The SUV was in the drive. Sammi trudged up the stairs and knocked on the door. He felt a slight twinge from the muscles where he’d gotten his shots.
Brian answered. “Sammi. Where the hell have you been?” He didn’t appear happy to see Sammi, in fact, he’d call it pissed off.
“Sorry, I should have left a note. I went for a walk.” He shrugged as he entered. “I had a lot of stuff to think over.”
Brian nodded. “Want to see what I got you?”
Sammi smiled. “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be great. You have such good taste.”
“How do you know that?” Brian laughed as he got the bags.
“Well, first, you’re Mitchell’s best friend. And second, your fashion sense is incredible.” Sammi folded his legs under him as he sat on the couch and began to dig through the bags.
From the first large bag, Sammi pulled out jeans, T-shirts and a couple of denim shirts. Socks and two packs of briefs were in another bag, along with aftershave, a nice razor—not one of those plastic kinds—and a deodorant stick that matched the aftershave. He spun the top on the aftershave and sniffed. It smelled like citrus with an underlying musk scent. Sammi couldn’t wait to wear it for Mitchell.
“Wow. I never expected this. Everything is so nice.” He’d had more expensive clothes, Donovan had insisted, but he’d hated wearing them, as if doing so marked his acceptance of Donovan’s ownership of him.
“Just doing what Mitchell asked.” Brian shrugged.
Sammi wondered if he’d ever have such a good friend like Brian. Mitchell deserved the best friend ever.
“This is great. I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.” He scooped it all up and dashed down the hall before Brian could think of anything else to ask.
In the shower, Sammi began to feel odd. Just a few minutes before, he’d been happy. Now, sadness washed over him. He washed his hair and rinsed off. As he shaved, the feeling of melancholy grew more intense.
Shit. Something had happened to Mitchell, and with gut-wrenching certainty, Sammi knew it probably had to do with him. He was bad news. Sex and trouble, but mostly trouble. How much more could he screw up Mitchell’s life?
He dressed in fresh clothes and headed back to the kitchen. Brian stood at the stove, preparing lunch. It smelled wonderful and despite his emotions, Sammi’s stomach rumbled.
“What’s that? It smells delicious.” He peeked around Brian’s bulk at the pots on the stove. Water boiled in a large stock pot.
“Glad you approve. It’s lunch. Spaghetti and meat sauce.”
“I love spaghetti.” He pulled out a chair at the table and dropped into it. “How did you learn to cook?”
“I’ve been on my own for a long time.” Still facing the stove, Brian kept talking. “You just pick it up. It’s not like I went to school for it.”
“But you went to school.” He tried to keep the envy from his voice. “College, right?”
“Yeah. Up in Austin at the University of Texas. That’s where I met Mitchell. We had some classes together. Started hanging out.”
“But you never hooked up?”
“No. Sex fucks up friendships.”
Sammi didn’t have much experience with friendship, but plenty with sex. Most of it hadn’t been very good. Until Mitchell.
“What do you do?” Sammi was curious about the man who figured so prominently in Mitchell’s life.
“Well, my degree is in engineering. But, now, I’m a P.I.”
“A P.I? Like a private detective? That’s cool. How’d you learn that?”
“Took some law enforcement classes.” The big man shrugged his shoulders. “Thought for a while I’d be a cop. But, the gay thing just wasn’t happening. So, I turned it into a detective agency.”
“You and Mitchell are so smart.” Sammi bit his lip. Not like him. No education, just his street smarts, and most of those he wanted to forget.
“You seem like a pretty smart guy, Sammi. Don’t underestimate yourself.” Brian plated the spaghetti, and poured the meat sauce into a large bowl. “Hey, over in that cabinet, get us a couple of plates. The silverware is in that drawer.”
Sammi set the table, careful to place the napkins in the correct positions. At the penthouse, all the meals had been formal. Donovan had insisted. Even though the kitchen had a counter and stools to sit on, Sammi had never been allowed to eat at it, not even a sandwich.
Brian pulled out the wine from last night and poured them each a glass.
They sat, passed the food around then dug in.
After his first few bites, Sammi looked at Brian. “Something’s wrong with Mitchell.”
Brian stabbed at his food. “What are you talking about?”
“I can feel it. He’s upset about something.”
Brian put down his fork and picked up his glass. Sipping the wine, he stared at Sammi over the rim. “That gift of yours?
”
Sammi squirmed in his seat. “Yeah.”
Brian put down the glass and folded his arms. “You know, in my line of work you see a lot of common things. Life. Death. Love. Hate. Greed.” His eyes bored into Sammi’s. “Sometimes, you see things you can’t explain.”
Sammi took a gulp of wine and almost choked. He wanted Brian to stop staring at him as if he could see inside him. Sammi’s gaze flicked to Brian’s face.
“Do you have a gift?” Sammi toyed with his fork, twirling it in the pasta.
A slow smile turned the corners of Brian’s mouth up, making a killer set of dimples. “Some might call it that. I get feelings sometimes. Usually when I’m on a case.”
“What kind of feelings?” Sammi leaned forward.
“Whether someone is telling the truth or lying, whether I’m on the right trail, even what might have happened. Some people call it a hunch or a gut feeling. But it’s much stronger than that. It’s as if I can see it happening.”
“Seriously?” For a moment, Sammi thought Brian was bullshitting him, but the man was so serious, so sincere. He opened his emotions and picked up traces of Brian. Curiosity. Confidence. Sincerity.
Something told Sammi he’d be safe with Brian.
“I can feel other people’s emotions. Sometimes,” Sammi said in a rush.
Brian nodded. “Thought so. Do you use it often?”
“Sometimes.” He ducked his head and took a bite of spaghetti as Brian watched.
“Sometimes, huh?” Brian didn’t appear as if he believed Sammi at all.
Sammi didn’t want to explain how he used his gift. That was too much honesty for now.
“The food is delicious. I wish I could learn to cook.” Sammi smiled around a mouthful of food. “So I could cook for Mitchell. I cleaned the house yesterday. I want to make myself useful. I don’t want him to think I’m taking advantage of him. I want to earn my keep.”
“That’s a good idea. Well, I could show you a few things. I happen to know some of Mitchell’s favorite dishes.” Brian’s eyes twinkled.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
Sammi and Brian fell silent as they finished eating. Sammi was learning so much, about himself and about Mitchell. Even Brian. Sammi had never known so many people he felt comfortable around and trusted.
