Can't Hide From Me

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  Pulling out halfway, Charles hooked his finger inside Ángel’s hole and tugged, coaxing the muscle to relax still more. Then he pushed all the way in and bottomed out, giving Ángel both his finger and his cock at once.

  “God,” Ángel said, letting out a deep groan. He writhed atop Charles, pushing back against the penetration, savoring the sweet ache of being so full.

  Charles kept his finger in place as he thrust slowly in and out. He was struggling for breath, his body trembling against Ángel’s, but his rhythm remained steady and measured.

  Mouthing sloppily along Charles’s shoulder, Ángel said, “Give me another one.”

  “Shit.” Charles’s hips bucked, just once, before he settled back down. “Are you sure? I don’t think you’re wet enough—”

  “I can take it.”

  Being stuffed with two of Charles’s fingers along with his sizable cock pushed Ángel close to his limits. He moaned throughout Charles’s careful incursion, trembling uncontrollably once he had it all inside.

  Bouncing or thrusting was out of the question, so Ángel gripped Charles’s shoulders and swung his hips in lewd circles, pressing every inch of Charles’s fingers and cock right where he needed them, rubbing his erection against Charles’s abdomen. Charles grunted punched-out breaths, his free hand clutching Ángel’s thigh like a lifeline.

  “Kiss me,” Charles said, echoing Ángel’s earlier command.

  Ángel did his best, but he was too overwhelmed. All he could manage was to pant against Charles’s open mouth, their lips clinging together but barely moving otherwise.

  “Can you come like this?” Charles murmured into the intimate space between them.

  Ángel nodded. Releasing Charles’s shoulders, he pushed himself up a bit on his hands, arching his back until he found the right angle. He quickened his pace, grinding his hips, his cock skidding against Charles’s soft, warm skin. Charles gazed up at him, entranced, and Ángel couldn’t tear his own eyes away.

  As the pleasure swelled and neared its peak, Ángel squeezed all his muscles at once, clenching down around Charles’s fingers and cock. The sudden pressure sent him over the edge; his orgasm wrenched a sob from his throat, his entire body wracked with crashing waves of pure release. Ángel spent himself all over Charles’s stomach and slumped onto his elbows.

  Charles gently withdrew his fingers, grasped Ángel’s hips with both hands, and thrust up into him.

  Ángel splayed his legs wider to give Charles more room to work. “You don’t have to hold back,” he said, sensing Charles’s fraying self-control in his shaking muscles, his ragged breathing.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” said Charles.

  “I’m fine.” Ángel nipped at Charles’s jaw. “I’m fine. Come on, I want you to feel as good as I do.”

  Charles snapped his hips, plunging harder into Ángel’s ass. Ángel cried out as aftershocks zinged up his spine.

  Charles was still watching his face intently. Ángel smiled at him, and when one of Charles’s hands cupped his jaw, Ángel leaned into the caress.

  “Don’t give up,” Charles burst out, startling him. “Stay here, Ángel, stay here and fight. I won’t let anything happen to you. Please.”

  Ángel stared at him, eyes wide and astonished.

  “Please,” Charles said again, his voice choked with pleasure as much as desperation. The movement of his hips was frenzied now. “Please, I can’t watch you give up, please . . .”

  “All right,” said Ángel. “I’ll stay.”

  Charles’s shoulders curled up off the bed; he pressed his face to Ángel’s shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist, squeezing tightly, as he came hard with a muffled groan. Ángel rode it out, rolling with every twitch of Charles’s body until Charles fell back to the mattress.

  He looked dazed, shattered. Ángel brushed a hand over Charles’s cheek and leaned down to kiss him.

  Whenever Charles asked Ángel to stay, Ángel wasn’t able to leave.

  “Ángel, we’re gonna be late!” Charles called from the kitchen.

  Ángel came out of the bedroom still buckling his belt, one sock on his foot and the other clutched in his hand. “You could go without me, you know. I’ve got my bike.”

  “It’s ridiculous for us to drive separately when we’re going to the same place,” said Charles. “And that thing is a death trap.”

  “What are you, ninety?” Ángel pulled his other sock on.

  When he straightened up, he was surprised by Charles grabbing his waist and pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss. Ángel wrapped his arms around Charles’s neck and sank into it, kissing Charles there in his kitchen for several long minutes.

  “That’s some good stuff, Grandpa,” he said once they separated, then smacked Charles’s ass and scurried away before Charles could do more than sputter indignantly. “Come on, I thought you were worried about being late?”

  After Ángel put on his shoes, they headed out to Charles’s car. Ángel was in a much lighter mood than the day before; he’d spent the night in Charles’s bed, and Charles hadn’t pushed him away once, either literally or figuratively. In fact, Charles kept reaching out to touch him, fingers brushing over Ángel’s hair and face and back as if reassuring himself of Ángel’s presence.

  Ángel’s chest ached whenever he thought about Paul, but with Charles on his side, he could be strong enough to see this through to the end.

  Still feeling giddy as they buckled their seat belts, Ángel snuck a hand into Charles’s lap and squeezed his inner thigh, his knuckles grazing Charles’s cock. Charles yelped and dropped the keys into the footwell.

  “You little shit,” Charles said, failing to hide his smile. He bent down to retrieve the keys.

  A bullet tore through the windshield with an explosive crack and slammed into the headrest of Charles’s seat.

  Charles and Ángel both shouted, Ángel instinctively hunching forward and Charles staying down where he was. Their eyes met over the gearshift.

  “Is someone shooting at us?” Charles said.

  A second bullet ripped into the headrest centimeters from the first. Chunks of glass rained down on the dashboard from the shattered windshield.

  “That would be a yes,” said Ángel, digging his cell out of his pocket. Charles scooped up the keys and jammed them into the ignition.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  “This is Special Agent Ángel Medina with the San Diego office of the ATF.” Ángel winced as Charles swung them backward out of their parking spot without looking, banging their rear bumper hard into another parked car. “My partner and I are taking fire in our car from a sniper in the Bella Vista apartment complex off of South 89th Street.”

  “A . . . I’m sorry, did you say a sniper?” the operator asked.

  Charles shifted the car into drive and stomped on the accelerator, driving blind through the parking lot.

  “Yes,” Ángel said. Another shot rang out, smashing the rear windshield this time, once more unerringly targeting the driver’s side headrest. “Only rifle rounds could break this glass. They must be positioned on the roof of one of the buildings, but I can’t tell which. We’re attempting to leave the scene.”

  Their car clipped another parked vehicle; Charles overcorrected, bringing their right-hand wheels up on the curb. “Motherfucker,” he spat.

  As they fled, a fourth bullet took one of the rear tires. This was an agency vehicle, though, equipped with bullet-resistant tire inserts—after the first lurch, Charles was able to maintain control and speed, peeling out of the apartment complex’s gate. He lifted his head just enough over the dashboard to make a right turn without driving into oncoming traffic.

  “You need to dispatch officers to the scene immediately,” Ángel said to the operator. “I don’t think there was any collateral damage, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Yes, sir. Please stay on the line.”

  A short way down the road, Charles risked sitting up higher.
When no more shots were forthcoming, he drew his own gun and used it to knock the rest of the fractured glass out of the windshield on the driver’s side, giving himself a clear view.

  While they drove, Ángel provided the operator with all the necessary details, including his own number and the number for their office. Once he’d been assured that officers were on their way, he ended the call.

  “I’m going to pull off at the next gas station,” Charles said. “These tires are supposed to be able to go sixty miles after taking a hit, but I’d really rather not test that.”

  Ángel nodded, already dialing Ed Campos.

  Campos sent agents to retrieve them, and Ángel and Charles spent the next two hours giving statements to both their own people and the SDPD. The responding officers hadn’t found any trace of a sniper, not even shell casings; the only evidence left behind were the bullets in Charles’s car and the damage they’d caused while escaping. Forensics would extract and analyze the bullets, but Ángel had little confidence they’d find anything useful.

  Once the police had left and things had quieted down, Ángel and Charles joined their team at their desk cluster. The adrenaline of the attack and its aftermath began to wear off, leaving Ángel nauseous in its wake and too agitated to sit.

  “You would have died,” he said to Charles.

  Charles remained standing as well. “You could have died too.”

  “No,” said Ángel. “The sniper wasn’t shooting at us; he was shooting at you. Just you. If you hadn’t bent down to get the keys at that exact moment, you would be dead right now.”

  “I’m not,” Charles said calmly.

  Ángel shook his head in frustration. This was never going to stop. Stalking always escalated, and he knew that. God, why had he let Charles talk him into staying?

  A cacophony of dings, whistles, beeps, and chimes resounded through the office as every cell phone present received a text message simultaneously.

  Every phone, that is, except for Ángel’s. He frowned at his empty screen, then looked at Charles, who shrugged and showed Ángel his own blank phone.

  Gasps and whispers broke out across the room. Jade clapped a hand over her mouth; Eva uttered a low curse. One by one, every head in the room turned toward Ángel and Charles.

  “What?” Ángel said, breaking out in goose bumps. “What is it?”

  Jade handed Ángel her phone. Blazing on the screen was a photo of Charles and Ángel kissing—kissing that morning, in Charles’s kitchen, completely absorbed in each other. Cross hairs had been superimposed over Charles’s head, and a message printed along the bottom of the photograph:

  IF I CAN’T HAVE HIM NO ONE CAN

  Charles took the phone out of Ángel’s hand and then sucked in a breath, his skin going numb as a buzzing started up in his ears. Dozens of stares burned into him from every direction, and he couldn’t bring himself to look up. His eyes wandered from himself and Ángel to the cross hairs to the threatening message, his brain scrambling to process all the disturbing implications at once.

  “So when you said you knew Ángel in Tucson,” Shane said, breaking the office-wide silence, “you really meant you knew him in Tucson.”

  Charles couldn’t deny it. The picture radiated a familiar, intimate vibe; it clearly wasn’t the kiss of two people new to each other’s bodies.

  He returned Jade’s phone and looked at Eva, whose expression was a struggle between anger and anxiety. Before she could say anything, though, Ed strode out of his office and into the bullpen.

  “I need to see you two in my office,” he said to Charles and Ángel. He held his own cell phone in one hand.

  Ángel started after him; when he realized Charles wasn’t following, he turned back and hissed, “Charles,” under his breath.

  Giving his head a hard shake, Charles trailed after Ángel and Ed. He avoided the eyes of everyone they passed, doing his best to block out their shocked whispers.

  This isn’t happening.

  Inside his office, Ed shut the door, closed the blinds, and gestured for Charles and Ángel to sit down. He took a seat behind his desk and set his phone out on top.

  “Is this a real photograph?” Ed asked.

  It hadn’t even occurred to Charles to suggest the photo had been doctored. Ángel was silent next to him, gazing down at his clasped hands, allowing Charles to take the lead.

  Charles couldn’t lie about this, not if he ever wanted to face himself in the mirror again. “Yes, it’s real.”

  His brow furrowing, Ed said, “Were the two of you romantically involved in Tucson?”

  Charles’s hands spasmed on the arms of his chair. He tried to speak, but his dry throat only made a sort of clicking noise.

  “He’s objecting to your use of the word romantically,” Ángel said, his glacial tone lowering the temperature in the room several degrees.

  “What?” Charles said, recovering his voice. “No, I’m not . . . I’m just trying to catch up with what’s happening here.”

  “You never disclosed your relationship to the agency back then.”

  Ángel’s face was wooden. “It wasn’t serious.”

  “Serious enough to start things up again,” Ed said. He turned to Charles. “I understand wanting to keep your relationships private, but for God’s sake, once we realized Ángel was being stalked by someone with a vested interest in his personal life, this became a very dangerous secret. You should have at least told me, even if it was off the record. Did you think it would matter to me that you’re gay?”

  “I’m bisexual,” Charles snapped. Jesus Christ. Ed had known Amy, had been around her and Charles together—had come to their engagement party—but his first assumption upon seeing a photo of Charles kissing another man was that Charles had been on the down-low all along, rather than the much simpler and more rational explanation that he was attracted to men as well as women.

  This was why Charles allowed people to assume he was straight. Come out as bisexual, and suddenly everyone and their mother had a fucking opinion they were eager to share. Charles wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, but it was exhausting to be constantly forced to defend it, as if the matter were up for debate. He had zero interest in fending off accusations that he was in denial or going through a phase or somehow confused about what got his own dick hard.

  “Oh.” Ed hesitated, seeming thrown, before he soldiered on. “Well, regardless, you’ve angered the stalker enough for him to make a serious attempt on your life.” He tapped his phone. “When was this picture taken?”

  “This morning.”

  “But it couldn’t have been taken from outside,” said Ángel. “The blinds were closed over the sliding glass door, and there aren’t any windows in that room.” Glancing sideways at Charles, he said, “There must be cameras in your apartment.”

  “Goddamn it,” Charles said, knowing at once that Ángel was right. He knew how the stalker had pulled it off too. “The other night, when Marco tagged the door—I cleared the apartment when we got back, but I didn’t look for surveillance devices. I was too distracted.”

  “Why today, though?” Ed asked. “Why didn’t he take a shot at you until this morning, when he must have had plenty of opportunities before this?”

  “Because I changed my mind,” Ángel said quietly.

  Charles closed his eyes.

  “If there are cameras in your apartment, you can bet your ass there are bugs.” Ángel’s voice grew more strained as he spoke. “I told you I was going to leave San Diego, and then you convinced me not to, Charles. He must blame you for that.”

  “This is exactly why you can’t leave,” Charles said, opening his eyes. “He wants you alone, unsupported, so it’ll be easier to take you—”

  “It’ll be easier for him to take me after he picks off everyone around me here too,” Ángel shot back.

  Ed reached for his desk phone. “I’ll send a team out to sweep your apartment, Charles. As for next steps . . .” He sighed. “I honestly don’t know
. You’ve got a literal target painted on your head. I don’t think either of you should leave the office for the time being.”

  “If I leave, he’ll follow me,” Ángel said. “Charles won’t be in danger then.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Charles, clenching his right hand into a fist. “What’s to stop him from taking me out before he leaves? Or coming back later for revenge? If you go off alone, the only thing you’ll be doing for sure is making yourself more vulnerable.”

  “So I’m just supposed to sit around with my thumb up my ass and wait for whatever he decides to do next? We aren’t any closer to catching him than we were a week ago!” Ángel took a deep breath and looked at Ed. “May I please be excused, sir?”

  Ed nodded. Ángel jumped up and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind himself. Charles scowled at it, his body strung tight with frustration.

  “Go after him if you’re going,” Ed said, raising the phone receiver to his ear.

  Charles didn’t need to be told twice. He left the office and found Ángel moments later, pacing the same conference room where they’d promised Eva they wouldn’t sleep together again.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Charles said once he shut the door.

  “Why not?” Ángel said, whirling to face him. “Won’t you be glad to get rid of me, now that your horrible secret is out?”

  Charles frowned. “Horrible secret?”

  “Everybody knows you’re bisexual now.”

  “Uh, no, I’m pretty sure everybody now thinks I’ve been secretly gay all this time, which is gonna drive me up the fucking wall.” Charles rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Ángel, but my sexuality isn’t a horrible secret to me. I just prefer not to tell people, especially at work. You know how most people react to anyone saying they’re bisexual, let alone a black man. It’s going to cause me problems here, and I’m beyond upset about being outed this way, but it isn’t going to ruin my life.”