North on Drummond

by K. C. Burn

  Immediately the antagonism bled out of him because Drew looked on the verge of falling over, and the last thing he wanted was for Drew to be hurt any worse.

  “What are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to be resting.”

  At the same time, Wyatt said, “Go to fucking bed, Drew.”

  Drew scowled at them. “And I’m supposed to sleep through you guys fighting in my kitchen?”

  With a flash of clarity like a smack upside the head, Cliff realized his behavior had been just horrible. He was a guest in Drew’s home and had just broken Drew’s brother’s nose. This was why heat waves had such a significant impact on crime rates. Tempers flared easier in the heat, and there was no denying Drew’s house was just about as hot and humid as anything Cliff had experienced since he’d left Florida.

  “Sorry.” Cliff’s voice became very quiet, and his state of undress now felt prurient and indecent like it hadn’t before. Maybe it was because both he and Drew were only wearing underwear, and anyone with eyes and the knowledge that Drew had only one bedroom would leap to the same conclusion Wyatt had. Although he wasn’t sure it was possible to be any more hateful than Wyatt had been in response. Cliff repressed the desire to cup his hands protectively over his package.

  Wyatt snorted, then groaned, apparently having forgotten his broken nose.

  “Sit down, Wyatt, and let me get some ice for that.” Drew didn’t make a move for the fridge, although Wyatt did obey. Gripping the counter with both hands, Drew frowned. “And don’t think I missed the part that you’ve been warning guys away from me. Didn’t we… I feel like we talked about this already. But it’s fuzzy, like I dreamt it. I didn’t dream that conversation, did I?”

  In a flash, Wyatt turned into a chastened schoolboy. “Shit, Drew. I’m sorry. We did. Last night at the Angry Parakeet. I just… Cliff and me don’t have such a great history. I shouldn’t warn people away from you.”

  A little flash of anger directed at Cliff told him Wyatt still wouldn’t be thrilled if Cliff pursued Drew. Following the pattern of years of public school, Cliff decided he was going to anyway, as long as Drew’s record wasn’t too bad. He wouldn’t play with anyone’s feelings just to spite the evil twins, but their disapproval had pushed his previous indecision about getting involved with Drew off a fucking building. If Drew’d had Rob and Wyatt protecting him the whole time, it was possible he hadn’t had many brushes with the law.

  “Exactly. Now let’s get you cleaned up so you can install that A/C.”

  “You really should open up the doors to the front shop, Drew. Get some of that air back here.”

  “No way. I had Kyle turn those off. No sense cooling the whole place when no one’s using those rooms.”

  “Drew, if you need—”

  “I’m fine.” Drew cut off whatever Wyatt was going to say with a glare, followed by a glance in Cliff’s direction. Given the clean yet shabby interior of Drew’s house, Cliff figured maybe Drew didn’t want to spend the extra money on cooling the place down. Then again, if Wyatt was offering money, odds were he’d gotten it under less than legal circumstances, regardless of what Scott had told him about the twins working as mechanics and occasionally helping out Andy as handymen. Cliff would let it pass, but he’d make sure he contributed where he could, since Drew was doing him the favor of giving him a place to stay.

  Drew lifted one hand from where he clutched the counter, the tremors in his fingers perfectly visible.

  “Let’s get you back to bed. You shouldn’t be up and about. I’ll get Wyatt some ice for his nose.” Wyatt was a big boy and could clean himself up without Cliff’s help. “Then I’ll help him install the A/C unit before I head in for my shift.”

  Drew eyed him suspiciously, and Cliff couldn’t blame him. After all, they were virtually strangers, and Drew had no real reason to trust him.

  “Seriously. I’m sorry about letting my temper get away from me. We can be civil, can’t we?” Cliff looked at Wyatt for confirmation. The nod helped, but the blood streaking down his face probably didn’t do much to ease Drew’s mind.

  “Please. Give it a chance.”

  Drew pressed his lips together before he gave a slight nod. There was no doubt in Cliff’s mind that if Drew were feeling better, he’d have protested.

  Cliff crossed the tiny kitchen and wet down the dishtowel before tossing it to Wyatt. “Wipe off the blood while I get Drew settled.” He’d also make sure Drew got something to eat before Cliff left.

  Almost defiantly, Cliff wrapped an arm around Drew’s waist, savoring the feel of skin on skin and the warm, musky scent of sleepy male while he got Drew back into bed. He fussed with Drew’s blankets and pain meds, trying to wait out the erection that had sprung up. No matter how contrite Wyatt might be, going back into the kitchen flaunting an erection would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Cliff pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, thankful he was able to hide his partial stiffy behind the denim, although he’d probably sweat through the jeans in no time.

  “Cliff?”

  He turned back toward Drew, hoping the resident patient hadn’t noticed his totally inappropriate arousal.

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?” Not killing his brother? Surely that didn’t rate thanks. Cliff certainly hadn’t shown any real restraint. His lack of control had made the decision to go in to work easier. Hopefully by the time he got back, he’d feel less like a shithead.

  “For trying to get along with my brother. I appreciate it.” Drew looked for a moment like he was going to say more, but his eyelids with their pale reddish-gold lashes fluttered, and he fell asleep. Cliff indulged himself for a moment by smoothing out that wild red hair, so soft under his fingertips. He wasn’t ever going to be friends with Drew’s brothers, but keeping the peace was part of his job description. No matter how difficult, if he wanted to get to know Drew better as a potential boyfriend, he was going to have to sac up and learn how to tolerate the evil twins.

  The whole issue would be moot if Drew was a suspect in any open case files, though, so he’d better check that out as soon as possible. In fact, he should have done that before agreeing to stay here, but Drew’s vulnerability had destroyed what passed for logic in his brain these days. Apparently his cock and heart were overriding his brain’s decisions. Wasn’t like him to make such an impulsive decision, but Pete’s death had changed a lot for him. Making the decision to quit the LAPD and move back home had also been rather impulsive.

  Letting himself engage in one last impulsive indulgence before he turned back to the kitchen to deal with the Neanderthal, Cliff brushed a kiss on Drew’s head above the bandage. He wasn’t sure when he’d become this big softy, although he’d sensed it wanting to break out while he was dating Brett. That should have been his first clue that he and Brett weren’t having the same relationship. He wanted to be able express how he felt, wanted to be able to touch and kiss in tenderness without having it always be a prelude to sex. Not that he didn’t want to fuck Drew into the mattress as soon as he was better, but he also wanted to be able to walk on the beach hand in hand with another man, and damned if his heart wasn’t already sketching Drew into the picture.

  His instinct that Drew wasn’t like the rest of his family better not be wrong, or Cliff was going to be gutted.

  * * * *

  Cliff had just finished skimming through the extensive files on the Drummonds when Scott came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, scaring a year or two off his life. He fumbled for the mouse and shut down the window.

  “Hey, Scott. You’re here early.”

  “Nope. I’m actually late and was looking for you. We need to head over to the shoot.”

  God. He really needed some sleep if he was losing track of time that badly. Despite the lost time, he’d been able to set his mind at ease. Drew’s record was squeaky clean, and even those of the evil twins weren’t as bad as he’d feared. Drew’s dad, yeah, he was a lot more violent, and some of Drew’s
cousins were clearly dabbling in drug dealing, but Drew was…not going to ruin his career.

  “Checking up on the Drummonds, were you?” Scott plopped down in the seat next to him, and Cliff wanted to bang his head against the desk. For a guy who hadn’t seemed to change from the big, goofy, oversize puppy he’d known in high school, Scott was far too fucking observant for his liking.

  “Uh, yeah. Don’t we have to get going?”

  Scott nodded, accepting Cliff’s diversion without any complaint. He stood and headed for the door. Cliff quickly shut down the computer and sped after him.

  “Get any rest?” Scott asked.

  “An hour. I think.”

  Scott turned and stared at him. “An hour? Are you sure you should be here?”

  “I’ll be fine. The worst of the tourists aren’t going to arrive until midweek, so this shift should be a breeze. Watching stuff get filmed is actually pretty boring. When everyone’s not waiting around for shots to get set up, they’ll repeat the same segment over and over from a million different angles.”

  And probably in different order. The actual “haunting” parts would be filmed after dark.

  “Huh. But aren’t they filming ghosts or hauntings? They can’t ask the ghosts to do another take.”

  “No, but whatever Brett or his interviewees say can be repeated again and again, then spliced together later.”

  With questionable footage and a bunch of idiots in the dark asking each other if they heard that noise or saw that movement or felt that chill. Complete and utter garbage, and Cliff was relieved he no longer had to pretend even the slightest belief in the supernatural. Even in Sandy Bottom Bay, no one could fault a cop for believing only in what he could see, hear, and touch.

  Oddly, Scott got in the passenger seat of Cliff’s cruiser and waited.

  “Aren’t you taking your own car?” Cliff asked as he got in and shut the door.

  “Yep. In a minute. Drew’s okay, you know.”

  Once again, Cliff had the urge to pound his head on something. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be used to everyone knowing his business.

  “What do you mean?” He wanted Scott to reassure him without actually asking him to do so, which was absurd.

  “C’mon. We both know why you were digging into the Drummonds’ files. He’s okay. Ask him out, if you want. Him and his grandma, they’re the only two who seemed to have escaped being tarred by the Drummond brush. Well, maybe not quite. Some people still lump Drew in with the rest of his family, but he went to college, he owns his own house and business, and he’s a good guy, as far as I can tell. If you’re interested, you should go for it.”

  “You don’t think it would look…unprofessional? Or be a conflict of interest?” Shit, shit, shit. He was way too tired. Even though Scott was an old friend, Cliff didn’t like appearing vulnerable over a guy. Vulnerability was an Achilles heel that someone could exploit and use to hurt him.

  “It’s a small town, dude. Your options are somewhat limited, and even though some people in town lump Drew in with the rest of his deadbeat family, most don’t. Most really like him. There are a number of women who keep trying to point out young gay men for him to date. Tourists, usually. Aside from the ones who think he should get together with Kyle, that is.”

  Cliff’s insides twisted at the thought of Drew dating anyone else. Hooking up with anyone else. He was such a fucking idiot, but in light of his research and Scott’s confirmation, he was going to ask Drew out. As soon as Drew was on the mend. Jealousy was a foreign emotion for Cliff, but he wanted Drew. He didn’t give a damn about the so-called slim pickings in Sandy Bottom Bay. He hadn’t moved out here looking for a man, and even if every man in town were gay, he’d still have zeroed in on Drew.

  “Okay. Meet you at the hotel. They’ll tell us where we’re going when we get there.” Scott exited the car and loped across the parking lot to get in his own cruiser.

  * * * *

  The B&B didn’t look particularly menacing or haunted to Cliff, but it was apparently the feature for this part of Brett’s show. A number of zealous fans had come early for Haunt Fest, filling up the rooms at the B&B and eager to catch a glimpse of Brett.

  The crew was keeping the shoot locations under wraps, even from Cliff and Scott, until the very last minute. Brett had to be exaggerating how many groupies he had. This whole secretive shit was getting on Cliff’s nerves. Of course, there weren’t many places he wasn’t familiar with in the tiny Sandy Bottom Bay, and he could make a guess at which places Phantoms would film.

  “Right. Well, I’ll take a look around, see if there’s anything out of the ordinary, and you go let them know we’re here.”

  Scott laughed. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

  “Nope, but I sure hope my friend will cover for me when he can.” A wide smile spread Cliff’s lips. Avoiding Brett and asking Drew out. Those thoughts made him a happy man, despite the exhaustion that was almost painful.

  Near the end of Cliff’s shift, a commotion on the other side of the B&B caught his attention. He ran toward the yelling. In the center of the incandescent white spot illuminated by the insanely bright portable lights the crew had brought with them, Brett screamed obscenities at someone while Kristi flapped her arms ineffectively and tried to talk sense into the two of them. Scott approached just then, hand poised over his gun, but relaxed his stance within seconds. This altercation shouldn’t require weapons, but with Brett’s harsh words, Cliff wouldn’t put it past the other guy to pull out a gun and start firing.

  Much as he’d like Scott to run interference with Brett, it would be better if Cliff did it.

  Near as he could tell, Eddie wasn’t getting what Brett had promised while they’d had sex. Cliff could relate, although Cliff had never wanted Brett to give him a bigger part in his damn TV show.

  As one, he and Scott stepped between the combatants, using their bodies and bulk to move the two men away from each other.

  “Mr. Cavanagh.” Cliff hoped the lack of familiarity would snap Brett out of this…tantrum. Whatever it was, he’d never quite seen the like, and this was now the second day in a row he’d seen Brett lose his cool like this. “You need to calm down. Tell me what happened.”

  Strangely, it worked. Behind him, Eddie was still swearing, but Cliff trusted Scott to do his part. Brett took his eyes off his opponent and looked into Cliff’s.

  “Cliffy. I don’t know if I like you calling me Mr. Cavanagh. Unless we’re playing headmaster and naughty schoolboy. I’d love to discipline you while you begged Mr. Cavanagh for mercy.” Brett smirked at him, but both the words and gaze only made Cliff shudder. He was 100 percent over Brett Cavanagh.

  “Mr. Cavanagh. Tell me what happened.”

  Instead Brett pressed his body against Cliff’s. Up close, the makeup on Brett’s skin to make him attractive for the camera only looked odd and greasy under moonlight and blinding halogens. “Don’t be like that, Cliffy. You look tired, Cliffy. Why don’t you come back to the hotel with me after the shoot, Cliffy? I can help you get to sleep, and I heard you might need a place to stay.”

  Cliff stepped back, trying to fight down the spike of anger that shot through him at Brett’s words and actions. Not that Brett had admitted to anything, but Cliff had no doubt now that Brett had been responsible for him losing his room at the motel. If nothing else, the gossip vine shouldn’t have extended to a newcomer that quickly. But Brett had enough celebrity status to influence someone like the manager of the motel. Fucker. Cliff just wasn’t sure if it was because Brett wanted him back or wanted to piss him off. But he couldn’t let it get to him.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I have a place to stay. If I see any more incidents like this, I will arrest you for disturbing the peace, and you can cool your heels in jail until you can fly a fancy lawyer out here. Got it?”

  Brett shivered exaggeratedly. “Ooh, Cliffy. So commanding. I like this side of you. Maybe we could go out for a drink after the shoot. I saw a
very delicious redhead last night. Although…” Brett put on his pouty, thoughtful look. It was a look that had probably lost its charm a decade ago. “I think he might be indisposed. But the blond he was with was a tasty morsel as well. The three of us could have some fun.”

  Rage boiled up inside. Did Brett truly not realize his bizarre, skeevy, antagonistic behavior was the sole reason Drew was injured right now? And if Brett thought he was getting his slimy paws on Drew, he was mistaken. If Cliff had to, he’d sic the evil twins on Brett—again. For the first time, he found a sliver of common ground with the twins. Perhaps he couldn’t continue to call them evil.

  “Mr. Cavanagh. We will have no interactions besides professional ones. Are we clear?” Somehow Cliff managed to speak through a jaw clenched so tight it might spontaneously snap.

  Brett rolled his eyes but stopped trying to get closer to Cliff. “No wonder you moved back here. You’ve become too stodgy and boring for California.”

  Cliff was going to leave that one alone like a week-old carcass rotting in the sun. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the other man had mostly calmed. Old Eddie Price. He didn’t seem as old as he had to their teenaged eyes and was probably younger than Brett, but he was still just as fucking crazy as all the other woo-woo believers in this town. A medium. No one could speak with the dead, and ghosts didn’t exist. This town was nuts. What Cliff would give for a reason to throw the lot of them in jail.

  Scott escorted Eddie to his car while the crew went on with their work, but based on what Cliff had learned from Kristi’s interjections, they hadn’t seen the last of him. He was still the most important of Brett’s interviewees, since Cliff’s mother hadn’t budged on her stance.