What’s wrong with me? I should resent this.
He didn’t, though, and the peaceful feeling that went along with it was soothing. When he entered the saloon and caught sight of his son playing happily with his garage on the floor, it brought a smile to his lips.
“He’s going to wear that thing out before this journey is over.”
“If he does, I’ll buy him another one.”
The easy way in which Ric assumed they would continue to see something of each other was yet one more thing that he didn’t mind. “How has he been?” he asked Demi, who was down on the floor, as well.
“He’s been a very good boy, haven’t you, Idris?” By way of answer, the baby waved a car at Demi.
Mackie sat on the other side. “We’re all going to go to the beach soon. Want to come with?”
“Oh, um…” His instinctive reaction was to refuse. Then he remembered how he’d thought both he and Idris would enjoy it. “Why not? I’ve never been myself and I hear it’s quite fun.”
“It is,” Mackie confirmed. “We can make sandcastles and chase gulls and sandpipers, eat lobster rolls and fried clams. And there’s ice cream! Lots and lots of it,” he added, poking his finger into Idris’ belly.
His son giggled with delight, something Dafydd rarely saw or heard. Everyone is better with him than I am. Putting that useless thought aside, he resolved to throw himself full tilt into the day’s plans.
He turned to Ric. “Are you coming, too?”
“No.” He made an aborted movement to touch Dafydd’s face. “I want to discuss this surveillance in more detail with Val and Alex while we wait for Duncan to arrive. With any luck, I’ll have been in and out of Moran’s house before you return from your outing.”
Dafydd didn’t like the idea that he wasn’t going to be part of the monitoring done up in the pilot house. It was on the tip of his tongue to say he would stay onboard when Ric overrode his thoughts.
“Please do go without me. Playing on the beach is one of the happiest memories I have as a boy. Knowing you’re spending your day like that will make it easier for me to do what I have to. I don’t want you staying here and fretting over me.”
Dafydd huffed. “And what makes you think I would be?” He softened his words with a quick grin. Really, it was ridiculous how one night of good sleep was coloring his attitude.
Ric shook his head. “Dafydd, you aren’t nearly as mysterious or standoffish as you think you are. Have fun and have care. I’ll see you later for dinner.”
With that, the man turned and left. Dafydd watched his back for as long as he could, not very concerned that the others saw his interest.
* * * *
Duncan slipped back into the driver’s seat and placed the surveillance device on his lap. “Okay, the coast is clear, Doc. I can confirm that there aren’t any aliens inside the house. Only one seriously old man is shuffling about.”
Ric glanced down. “Does that thing actually tell you his age?”
“Naw, but he’s moving slowly so I did the math.” He shook his head once. “Hard to believe Dracul thought this far ahead or that an elderly human would still be loyal after decades of disuse.”
“If Dafydd says that’s what they did, then that’s what they did.”
Ric was surprised, and also not, that his first impulse was to defend the boy. After a torturous night of lying beside his heart’s desire, he was also a little cranky. Dafydd may have slept well—and thank God for it—but Ric had only catnapped, afraid he might roll too close in his sleep. His overtures toward Dafydd were going remarkably well. He didn’t want to fuck it all up by doing something stupid—like pressing his unavoidably hard dick against the poor guy.
Duncan held up his hand. “I’m not arguing the point. I’m just saying it wouldn’t have occurred to me. Are you ready to rock and roll?”
“I suppose. Do I look all right?” he asked, giving himself the once-over. He felt a little douchey in his Tommy Bahama Shadows in Paradise camp shirt and linen shorts. But paired with his Sperry Baitfish flip-flops, they would lend credence to his claim that he’d been walking along the beach and thought he’d drop in for a visit to this lovely cliffside home.
“Sure.” Duncan grinned. “I’d want to fuck you—if I were a ninety-year-old man. I’m certain you’ll have no trouble sweet-talking your way into the guy’s home.”
There was a snort from the speaker phone mounted on the car’s dashboard.
Ric glared at it. “No comment from the audience, if you please. I’m nervous enough as it is. The boys are safe, right?” He couldn’t help adding in that question, even though he knew the answer already.
“I can see them from here,” Val assured him. “Everyone’s taking a little lie-down under the beach umbrellas. Lucien is playing mother-hen and he has strict orders to keep them right there until I give the word. No worries, Doc. Your boy is safe. Both of them are.”
He almost denied that Dafydd and Idris were his, then realized that would be a ridiculous lie. Without saying anything, all the aliens had managed to convey to him their support and approval of his budding relationship with Dafydd. He only hoped their confidence in him was well-placed.
He flipped his Ray-Bans open and shoved them onto his face and opened the car door. Duncan had parked away from the house, so it meant a bit of a walk. He didn’t mind. In the waning heat of the day, it was glorious to be outside. He hoped he could come back to Putnam’s Cove sometime later in the summer for a real vacation. He could picture walking around town with Dafydd’s hand in his and pushing Idris in a stroller.
You’re getting ahead of yourself. That way leads to disappointment.
Moran’s house was a lovely two-story, rambling, shingle-style affair, accented with sea-foam green shutters and doors. It seemed too big for one person, although perhaps Moran had built it with plans of having a family one day. Yeah, of aliens.
The front boasted a small, manicured lawn surrounded by riotous flowers. Someone was keeping it up, and given the age of the owner, it must mean that he paid for the help. If Val’s information was accurate, Moran had no history of employment after the military and yet no discernable trust or other family money. Ric didn’t need to be a strategist or a super-smart alien to recognize the obvious. Moran had to be a kept man, and at his age, who could possibly continue to do that other than someone who lived far longer?
As he walked up to the front door, his palms began to sweat. He rubbed them on his shorts before ringing the bell. The sound of it was clearly audible, although after a few seconds of waiting, he heard nothing else. He tried it again, and still there was no response. Peering through the window beside the door proved to be no help. All he could see was a nicely-decorated entryway and, beyond that, an equally lovely living room. Everything looked expensive and neat, serving to bolster his suspicions about Moran—who wasn’t showing up to answer the door. Ric decided he needed to take a ballsier approach. No way Moran had tottered off in the few minutes it had taken Duncan to get back to the car.
So, Ric followed the slate walkway around the house, opened the gate leading to the backyard and ventured forth. He found Scotty Moran sitting at a wrought-iron table under an awning. He held a glass of some cloudy iced beverage in one hand, while the other stroked a fat tabby in his lap. His expression as he stared out at the ocean was serene until he heard Ric’s approach. Then there was nothing complacent or doddering about him.
“Who are you?” Old, yet sharp, eyes gave him an assessing look.
Ric smiled broadly and slowly took off his glasses in order for the man to see him better, and hopefully see nothing threatening. “I’m sorry, sir. I rang the bell.”
“And when I didn’t answer the front door, you decided to trespass around back? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners, or are you so pretty that you’re used to ignoring the rules?” The man’s look morphed to predatory.
Okay, Ric could work with that—had wished for it, actually. Notwithstanding the umbrage
he’d taken at Duncan’s teasing, he understood his appeal and wasn’t above using the lure of sex to advance his agenda. “Can’t blame a boy for using what God gave him, can you?”
Scotty’s eyes lit up. “Do I detect a hint of the exotic Latin in you?”
“Yes, sir.” Ric enhanced his normally muted accent, given that it was working in his favor. He assumed an invitation, as well, closing the distance between them.
Scotty removed his hand from the cat and lifted it in greeting. Ric took the limp fingers and pressed his lips lightly to the knuckles. He tried to channel a bit of Antonio Banderas.
“My name is Ric, although some have referred to me as a brown dwarf.”
His host stiffened slightly and his nostrils flared. “You don’t say? I’m Scotty.”
“I’ve heard. You have a beautiful house. I was wandering along the beach and couldn’t resist dropping by for a visit.”
“A purely social call?”
“Yes. I hope that’s all right?”
“Oh, dearie, company is always welcome. Have a seat.” He waved to the chair on the other side of the table. “Would you like a nice, cold glass of Arnold Palmer? It’s my own special recipe with home-made iced tea and lemonade, spiked with vodka, don’t you know.”
“Thank you, that would be lovely. Shall I fetch a glass myself from the kitchen?” Val had said to try to scope out the house if possible.
“No, no. Sit. I’m not that old.” Shoving the cat off his lap, he stood with a steadiness and grace that belied his age.
Perhaps he’d been fed alien blood sufficiently to give him a longer, healthier life without fully changing him. There was such a lot for Ric to learn about this alien physiology. He waited patiently while Scotty rummaged around inside, returned and poured him his drink.
Ric took a sip and genuinely was able to appreciate it. “Delicious and refreshing. You’re very kind.” He shifted his gaze. “Your view is spectacular.”
“Isn’t it, though? I was lucky to snag this piece of land right after the war. The big one, you know. It was pretty wild along here at the time. Now, it’s all built out. There’s not as much elbow room and my neighbors have turned into the most frightful bores. It’s all families these days, can you imagine? I mean, was leading dreary bourgeois lives what Stonewall was all about?” He gave Ric the side-eye. “You don’t have children, do you?”
He thought of Idris then squashed it. “No. It doesn’t fit with the, um, program, does it?”
Scotty’s expression turned sly. “It does sometimes, I’ve heard. Not with me, though. Thank God.” He shuddered with exaggeration. “I saw once what too much of a good thing can lead to. You know, blood,” he mouthed. “A drop here or there can do wonders for a boy, of course.” He waved his hand down his body.
Okay, there was confirmation that Moran’s long life and relative robustness was from alien intervention. It was nothing like what had transpired with Dafydd, though.
“That was plenty for me. The rest of it struck me as disgusting. Who wants to be a girl?”
Ric drank some more before answering and tamped down his natural inclination to argue the point. Dafydd and the other changelings remained men by their own definition, even when they chose to undergo the transformation. Besides, Scotty’s catty remark was insulting to any and all genders. Dick.
But his mission was to coax information out of the guy, not get into a socio-political argument, so he went along with the sentiment. “It’s more of a commitment than I’m willing to make.” He forced himself to make a face.
“We’re of like minds there. Fortunately, I was given a choice. Such a relief. Or, possibly I was a little disappointed,” he allowed. “I confess I would have done anything for my man and it would have meant spending more time with him.” He moaned breathily. “To capture all that raw, masculine attention on a daily basis and to be filled with the biggest, most powerful cock in the world…” He moaned again. “What more could a boy want?”
Ric nearly choked on his drink. He turned it into a chuckle. “I couldn’t have put it better. We’re very lucky. A little loyalty and devotion is a fair price to pay, no matter how long it takes for the bill to come due.”
“Sister, you’ve got that right.” Scotty sighed. “It’s hard, though. I must confess to have lost my own allure.” He ran a hand along his slightly wrinkled neck. “I’m not the ingénue I used to be, although I had a good run. Longer than most, so mustn’t grumble. At least my replacement, whoever that might be, isn’t being waved in my face.”
Ric considered his next question carefully. “No visits?”
Scotty rolled his eyes. “Not after the recent initial one and brief reunion. He barely stayed five minutes and there was no fun to be had.” He fluttered his hand. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. There’s no reason to, given that my ass isn’t worth reaming and there are younger, prettier mouths to choke his cock with.”
There was a small sniffle, and Ric found that he felt sorry for the man. Scotty had once been seduced by the baddest of bad boys but might never have understood that he was being used by aliens to wreak havoc on the world—or, not to the degree that had been going on. He might have convinced himself that he was playing out some sci-fi fantasy, especially when there’d been no public acknowledgment that some kind of invasion was occurring.
“Say, you’re not my replacement, are you?” Scotty’s eyes narrowed and it made Ric reassess how innocent the man really was.
Holding up his hand, Ric said, “No. I swear. I’m with someone else.” That was certainly true. “I’m simply at loose ends here in Putnam’s Cove and thought getting acquainted with you would be fun. I mean, I’m not on duty much until nightfall,” he added with a smirk.
That seemed to do the trick. Scotty’s suspicious expression disappeared.
“Hmm. One thing I have to admit is that no work and all play has made my life very agreeable. I’ve never been lonely up here. I have, to this day, plenty of scrumptious young things more than happy to let me suck their cock or willing to fuck my ass, for that matter. It’s not the same, but it’s hardly nothing.” He gave Ric the side-eye. “I don’t suppose—”
“Sorry.” Once again, Ric both sputtered on his mouthful of spiked Arnold Palmer and held up his hand. “I am not at liberty to play with anyone other than the one.” That was the truth of it. Since meeting Dafydd, he had no interest in other men.
“Pity. You’ll stay and keep an old soul company for a while, though, won’t you?”
Although he figured he’d gathered the information needed, it didn’t hurt to indulge the man. Duncan was monitoring the place. If any of Dracul’s men showed up, Val could warn him. The wire he wore included an earpiece for them to talk to him. There was a risk, of course, and he had promised Dafydd that he’d be careful. And yet, he sensed in Scotty a loneliness, for all his bravado, that would never be satisfied with mere human company—and platonic at that. In some sense, the man was as much a victim of Dracul’s ambition as any other human who’d gotten in the way. Ric would try, nevertheless. Compassion was an important distinction between him and the aliens he helped to fight. He couldn’t lose sight of that.
“I can’t think of a better way to spend my afternoon,” he said, lifting his glass in the man’s direction.
Chapter Nine
Brenin sat up and stretched his arms over his head. “This has been an awesome day.” He patted his bare stomach. “If I keep eating like this, I’m going to develop a pot, though.”
“You can work off the calories with sex,” Mackie said from where he remained lying on his towel. He was the only one not taking shelter under one of the two big umbrellas they’d stuck in the sand.
“It doesn’t burn that many,” Lucien countered without looking up from the book he’d been reading. Demi’s father was nominally their chaperone, with the job of making sure they didn’t wander off. It would have been insulting if the man weren’t so utterly chill.
“Ugh, Dad, plea
se don’t remind me that you and Papa still do it.”
“Forgive me, Demi. I had thought you and your friends were all mature.” Lucien’s dry put-down surprised Brenin. The man appeared docile and conservative, and yet he was no pushover and far more fun than expected.
“I’ll never be that grown-up.”
Lucien sighed. “See what you have to look forward to, Dafydd?”
There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere around them, as if everyone worried about how the former slave would react to something that should have been mundane for the average father.
From where he lay on his side, watching his son sleep off his ice cream coma, Dafydd appeared relaxed. “I’ve got lots of time for that, don’t I?”
There was another silent shimmer in the air around them as everyone else accepted that there’d been no faux-pas. While it was hard to identify exactly how, Dafydd was different that day. It had started at breakfast when he’d entered the saloon with Idris on his hip and Ric trailing behind him. Dafydd had appeared well-rested and almost cheery. Then there’d been the way he’d returned from the pilot house, again with Ric close behind. If Brenin hadn’t known better, he would have pegged them as a couple. Add to that how Dafydd had readily joined them in their beach excursion and there was a definite sense of optimism.
His friend was improving, and it wasn’t because he was popping pills indiscriminately with booze chasers. Brenin was certain of that for two reasons. One was that Ric obviously had taken on the task of monitoring Dafydd. The other was that no one as clear-eyed and energetic as Dafydd seemed could have been loaded to the gills.
Brenin wanted to ask Dafydd about it, but he feared if he did, it might break the cycle of good cheer. Since the previous night and his frank talk with Malcolm, he’d become more determined to get help from whatever source. To that end, he glanced at Jase. Seeing the boy had also sat up, he decided to get better acquainted with him and pick his brains for solutions. Of the three of them who’d suffered horrible abuse, Jase seemed the best adjusted. It could be a good front, yet he didn’t think so.
Healing Dance Page 12
