Third You Die (kevin connor mysteries)

by Scott Sherman

  “No bouquets, please,” Mrs. Cherry said. “They just die and depress me. But I’d be happy to give you the number of my local bakery. Just tell them to get the order right, okay?”

  29

  Bodyguards

  And so it was that, less than an hour after I promised Andrew I’d stick around the office, I was sneaking out again.

  What else could I do? When I wanted to talk to Brent’s boyfriend, Charlie, I had to wait till he went on shift at the bar. My “audition” with SwordFight took even more elaborate planning.

  But getting to Lucas should be easier. I knew where he lived. I could call first, but if he were involved in Brent’s disappearance, it’d probably be best to take him by surprise. I didn’t want to give him time to come up with any excuses, or, worse, make a run for it.

  I didn’t want to put it off. I had no idea where Brent was. But if there was chance it was somewhere unpleasant, if he were being held against his will-and I couldn’t imagine another scenario in which he at least wouldn’t have told Charlie where he was-time was of the essence.

  BTW: I’ve always wanted to use the phrase “time was of the essence.”

  Of course, there was always the risk Lucas wouldn’t be home. I mean, what does a kept boy do all day? Go to the gym, I’d imagine. Shop. Play video games. Maybe he was in school.

  I remembered Lucas’s sexy slacker vibe, though, and struck that last possibility.

  Whatever Lucas was up to, and whatever he knew about Brent, I planned to find out soon enough.

  On the way over, I called Freddy. Partly to fill him in, partly to let him know what I was about to do and make my increasingly frequent request of him to call Tony if he didn’t hear from me after a few hours.

  “I’m coming with you,” Freddy said defiantly. “There’s no way I’m letting you go into this one alone.”

  I was touched. Freddy and I had been through a lot together, and the degree to which he wanted to protect me proved what a loyal and true friend he was.

  “I’m afraid seeing two of us will scare Lucas off,” I said. “And you know I can handle myself if he gets physical. I’ve taken down bigger guys than him. But I really appreciate your looking out for me.”

  “Who said anything about looking out for you? We watched him on video together, Kevin, so I know you’ve seen that world-class ass. There’s no way I’m passing up the chance to get into that little hottie’s pants.”

  Okay, I retract all those warm and fuzzies. Freddy was a pig.

  “This is not,” I said firmly, “about getting into someone’s pants. This is about finding a missing friend.”

  “You want Lucas to talk, right? Well, I’ve learned,” Freddy observed blithely, ignoring the annoyance in my voice, “that with the right kind of boy, a good and thorough plowing has a positive effect on the flow of social… intercourse. Loosens him up, so to speak.”

  “Huh. And you’re prepared to make this sacrifice in the interests of helping to locate Brent?”

  “No, I’m prepared to make this sacrifice in the interests of burying my dick so deep inside his butt that he feels it against his tonsils. But, if it helps find Brent, then, hey, all the better, right? Never let it be said I’m selfish.”

  “You’re selfish,” I said.

  “I thought I made it clear never to say that, bitch. Where should I meet you?”

  “You shouldn’t. But, I’ll make you a promise-if I can’t get him to talk, we’ll try your approach.”

  “Really?”

  “Probably not. But you can dream, which is better than nothing, right?”

  “Barely.”

  “Besides, you’ve got Cody. What would he think about your shameless pursuit of a retired porn star?”

  “As you well know, Cody and I have an open relationship.” Freddy affected a haughty disregard.

  “On one side.”

  “Hey, he can screw around if he wants to.”

  “That’s the point. He doesn’t want to. He just wants you.”

  “So do a lot of other people. What am I supposed to do? ‘Just say no’? Do I look like Nancy Reagan to you?”

  “Only when you wear red,” I said. “And, yes, saying no is an option, Freddy.”

  “One minute you’re calling me selfish, the next you’re saying I shouldn’t share this magnificent body god gave me with as many men as I can. Make up your mind, Connor.”

  Maybe I didn’t have ADHD. Maybe my friends were conspiring to make me crazy.

  “Whatever. I’m texting you Lucas’s address. If I don’t call you in two hours, you try me. If I don’t answer, call Tony and have him send the cavalry. Okay?”

  “Why do I have to be the middleman on this? Wouldn’t it be easier if you called Tony now and told him yourself when you might need rescuing? He can watch the clock as well as I can. Probably better.”

  “Because if he knew what I was sticking my nose into, he’d kill me. Which would make the whole ‘rescuing’ thing kind of moot.”

  “Fair enough. Okay, I’d wish you luck, but since your success makes it less likely you’ll let me have a go at Lucas, I’ll just hope you don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That’s very generous of you.”

  “See?” Freddy pointed out. “ So not selfish.”

  I arrived at the address Mrs. Cherry had given me and immediately recognized the building. It was a tall, skinny sliver of a high-rise condominium that seemed constructed of nothing but glass and steel. It looked more like an oversized piece of jewelry than a place where real people lived. Chic, minimalistic, almost spindly, it was hard to imagine it could withstand a strong breeze, let alone hundreds of people and all their stuff. Yet, despite its seeming fragility, it was considered, in many ways, one of the most secure buildings in the world.

  It was called El Santuario. I’d read about it somewhere, the New York Times, maybe, or the New Yorker. Something with “New York” in it. It was described as the city’s most exciting new building, an architectural wonder. As high-tech inside as it looked from the street, every unit was wired for automation and the ultimate in home security. Despite the fact that the walls were almost all floor-to-ceiling windows, you could see out but you couldn’t see in. Some kind of special one-way coating gave the residents the best views in the city while also delivering total privacy.

  The entrance was set back from the street, flanked by two doormen. You couldn’t tell from looking, but I remembered from the article that the doormen were armed. It was also one of the few buildings in the city with an underground garage that allowed residents to pull in and have access to an elevator that would take them straight to the floor on which they lived, bypassing the need to pass through a lobby. This wasn’t so much a security design, I’d read, but one instituted to ward off paparazzi, who typically clustered around the city’s other high-end developments, hoping for a shot of someone rich and famous.

  Given its many protections, El Santuario was home to several celebrities, financiers, and heads of state. People who wanted not only the elegance and status of living in one of New York’s most desirable addresses, but the ultimate in protection from prying eyes and the other dangers of city life.

  I hadn’t asked Mrs. Cherry who Lucas’s patron was. I was kind of glad not to know. Whoever it was, he was rich enough to have an apartment here. I had no desire to get on the wrong side of anyone with that much juice.

  A man with that kind of money and power… now, there’s someone who’d kill to keep his secret.

  Forget Lucas.

  Maybe the real guy I should be worried about was his sugar daddy.

  I was glad I had dressed nicely for work today. The armed guards nodded as one opened the door for me. One even smiled.

  There are times when being five feet three with boyish features and a slim build are an advantage. I’m not particularly threatening.

  Once inside, I faced a long counter, behind which stood a man with the face of friendly bulldog. “May
I help you, sir?”

  Like most everything else in the lobby, the reception table was silver and glass. I noticed an odd omission of seating. No couches or chairs for visitors. The message was: You’re either on your way in, or on your way out. Hanging out was not encouraged at El Santuario. Another reminder that people weren’t here to be seen.

  “Hi,” I answered, in my most disarming manner. “I’m here to see Lucas. In…” I forgot the apartment number. “One sec.”

  I reached into my pocket for the folded sheet in my front pocket and noticed the receptionist’s eyes darken. Surely he didn’t think I was reaching for a…

  I’ll never know, but suddenly, another guard materialized to my left. He stood a few feet away, but I caught him in my peripheral vision. I heard a slight whirring noise and looked up. A video camera, discreetly tucked into a row of track lighting, slightly adjusted its lens. I imagined another guard in an unseen room zooming in on me to see what I was about to withdraw.

  Yikes.

  I pulled out the paper and opened it, my hands shaking slightly. The receptionist, however, seemed to relax slightly and dropped his shoulders.

  “Umm… twenty-two F,” I said. “Lucas in twenty-two F.”

  I purposefully didn’t give Lucas’s last name. I had no idea if he used the same one he used for films, but I bet not. For that matter, he might not have been using the same first name, but it was all I had.

  “Of course.” The bulldog moved his lips into an approximation of what would have been a smile on a human face. He picked up a phone and pressed some numbers. “Mr. Ford,” he said. “There’s someone here for your apartment.” He paused for a moment, listening. “One moment.”

  “Mr. Ford wasn’t expecting anyone,” he said to me. “Your name, please?”

  Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. Dumb.

  If I told him my name, then what? Would he ask the guard to inquire why I was there? What would I say? Anything close to the truth ran the same risk as calling ahead would have. Now that I was here, it seemed even more risky to set off his alarms. Forget being kicked out-I had the probably paranoid but unshakeable feeling that if I said the wrong thing, they’d shoot me.

  The few seconds these thoughts ran through my head seemed much longer. I felt a bead of sweat run down my back. I wanted to scratch it, but was afraid any sudden movement would get me thrown to the ground and handcuffed. Unless I was mistaken, the guard to my left was a foot or two closer.

  “Brent,” I answered, hoping the answer wouldn’t get me killed. “Please tell Mr. Ford it’s Brent Haven.”

  The guard relayed my name. He listened again and his brows knitted together. “Of course, Mr. Ford.”

  He punched some buttons on a keyboard I hadn’t noticed under his desk.

  “Would you mind looking there, sir?”

  He pointed at the lights where I’d seen the video camera hidden. A surveillance system. He must be able to patch the feed into the residents’ apartments.

  I said Brent Haven was here, and Lucas didn’t believe it. He had to see it with his own eyes.

  What did that mean?

  A number of people who’d known Brent remarked how much I resembled him. At least, on first glance. By the second one, though, I imagined the differences were clear.

  I had a feeling Lucas would be looking very closely.

  I’d been in other apartments with video cameras for visitors. The feeds were always grainy and indistinct. But this was the exceedingly high-tech and high-security El Santuario. The video was probably hi-def. Maybe even 3D. Who knew?

  I faced the camera, but as slightly as possible. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and subtly shook my head back and forth. Maybe some movement would make my image blurrier.

  The bulldog listened to the voice on the phone. His eyes narrowed.

  “Mr. Haven,” he said to me.

  “Uh-huh?” I didn’t turn to face him. I could see him in the corner of my eye and that was enough. I could no longer remember why I’d thought him a friendly bulldog at first. Now, he seemed quite growly. Maybe even rabid. My nerves were out of control. If I had to meet his eyes again I was afraid I’d fall to my knees and confess everything.

  That wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want to turn my head, though. If Lucas was buying me as Brent, I didn’t want to chance that seeing me in profile would ruin the illusion.

  The bulldog hung up the phone.

  The guard to my left was suddenly at my side. Shoulder to shoulder.

  Shit.

  “If you’d go with Mr. Smith…” the bulldog said, nodding toward the guard.

  I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet and tried to remember how far behind me the front door was. Should I make a break for it? I didn’t know where Mr. Smith intended to take me, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go there.

  “… He’ll call the elevator for you,” the bulldog finished.

  He looked at the guard. “Floor twenty-two, Matthew.”

  “Very well, sir. This way, please.” For the first time, I saw the guard straight on. He was actually pretty cute, very tall and thin, with a long, horsey face that looked equally dopey and bright. He spoke in a clipped British accent that increased his adorableness by a factor of five.

  His eyes twinkled with a manic energy that he struggled to keep hidden. He looked more like a mad scientist than a security guard, but I had no doubt he could handle himself if a situation turned hairy.

  Much to my relief, this one didn’t.

  “Thank you,” I said to the bulldog. Now that I was cleared for entry, he smiled again and looked friendly. I resisted the urge to pat his head.

  I followed Matthew Smith to the azure-doored elevator, one of the few spots of color in the otherwise neutral entranceway. He called it by punching a six-digit number into the keyboard. No simple “up” and “down” arrows at El Santuario. Another layer of security.

  I wondered if the people who paid millions of dollars to live here realized how much their luxurious homes felt like a jail. I felt lucky not to have been strip-searched before gaining entry, although, had Mr. Smith been doing the search, it might have been fun.

  “Do enjoy your visit,” the mad doctor instructed me as the doors of the blue box he’d called for me opened. He gave me a little wink that made me wonder if he knew more about Mr. Ford than a simple name change could conceal.

  “I intend to,” I lied.

  30

  The Porn Identity

  For such a new and high-tech building, the elevator seemed to be taking an awfully long time to reach the twenty-second floor. But then again, maybe it was my nerves stretching out the minutes like a prisoner on the rack.

  In any case, it was long enough for me to have the increasingly intense suspicion I was walking into a trap. But what? I was probably just being overdramatic.

  The doors opened with a ping that made me jump. Nervous much? I pinched my arm. Get over it. I stepped into the chicly stark hallway.

  Just as the doors of the elevator closed behind me, it occurred to me what was wrong.

  What if I was mistaken about Lucas using a new alias?

  Maybe Mr. Ford wasn’t Lucas at all.

  Maybe it was The Patron who’d allowed the guard to send me up.

  The Patron with a secret worth killing for.

  I ran through the conversation with the bulldog again.

  I said I was here for Lucas and he called upstairs.

  Whoever answered, the guard called him “Mr. Ford.”

  But he hadn’t said, “There’s someone here to see you, ” had he?

  He’d said, “There’s someone for your apartment.”

  At least, that’s what I thought he’d said. I wasn’t paying that much attention, as I was mostly focused on not wetting myself.

  Shit.

  Shit shit shit.

  Was that why Mr. Ford wanted to see me on the video? Because he knew it couldn’t be Brent?

  So then why let
me come upstairs?

  Because he’d seen me and determined I wasn’t a threat?

  Hadn’t I just been thinking how lucky I was not to look imposing?

  Now, I wished I resembled a more muscular John Cena.

  This was crazy. I was crazy. What was I doing here?

  Freddy was right.

  Tony was right.

  I had no business playing Boy Detective.

  I turned back to the elevator, relieved to see that on the residential floors there were no secretly coded keypads, just the same two boring buttons you find in every other building.

  I was just about to press “down” when two hundred pounds of muscle ran down the hall and grabbed me.

  The force of the impact, and subsequent restraint, knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t breath. Or scream. Was I about to “disappear” too?

  “Brent!” shouted an excited Lucas Fisher/Ford. He swept me off my feet and twirled me around. “My god, I thought I’d never see you again!”

  Already woozy with panic and self-doubt, I was completely disoriented by this sudden embrace and dizzying spin. I didn’t even notice he’d gone from turning me to carrying me until we were inside his apartment and he’d kicked the door closed behind him.

  “Oh baby, I missed you so much.” He pushed me against the door and brought his face around for a kiss. His body pressed against mine with a comfortable intimacy. Well, comfortable for him. For me, it was a little on the awkward side. Although, I suppose I should have been grateful that his initial embrace in the hallway, although overly enthusiastic, was the product of horniness, not hostility.

  The tenderness of his touch played in sharp contrast to the hardness of his muscles. His pecs, abs, and quads felt like granite.

  The other hardness he pressed against me was equally impressive. Had it been meant for me, I’d have been appreciative. As it was, I felt guilty, like I’d stolen his erection from someone more deserving.

  His handsome face, even better-looking than on video, was radiant with joy.

  Until a cloud eclipsed its brilliance.