A Hunted Man (The Men of Halfway House) (2 page)

A pair of college-aged girls passed by, one smiled at him as she slowed her pace. He casually looked away as if he hadn't noticed. No sense playing a game he had no interest in winning.

"That's gonna happen you know," Sam commented with a smirk.

"What?"

"Girls showing an interest. They don't bite," Sam teased. "Well, unless you want them to," he added with a chuckle.

Sam didn't know. He wasn't sure how Sam would react, so he thought it best to stay quiet. It wasn't as if he shouted his sexual orientation from the top of C Block. That would have definitely garnered some unwanted attention.

"What's with the look?"

"Huh?" he finally said as if he weren't following the conversation at all.

"You're a horrible liar, Cam."

Cameron cringed. Sam could smell bullshit a mile away. Always did. That was why Cam avoided conversations at all cost regarding anything he wanted to keep to himself.

"So why didn't you ever tell me you were gay?" Sam asked unexpectedly.

Cameron froze. He'd managed to keep that quiet for years, but Sam figured it out as soon as the opposite sex circled like a bird of prey. He didn't know what to say so he shrugged as he looked down and played with his napkin.

"It's fine, you know."

Cameron looked up. "It doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it?"

"I don't know. I just figured it might."

Sam laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I guess I just forgot to tell you. I didn't think it would matter."

"What?" Cam asked. Suddenly, he was blindsided by a thought. "Are you gay, too?" he whispered.

Sam laughed even harder. "No, Cam. You know Em was the only one for me," he said with a wistful smile. He stood from the table when he heard their order number called out. "I'll be right back."

Cameron remembered one of his conversations with Sam. Em,
his
Emily. How could he have forgotten and asked Sam whether he was gay. This damn sensory overload was messing with his brain cells.
Shit.
He knew better. Sam had one love in his life, his wife Emily, who had died a few years ago after a long battle with cancer. He remembered Sam telling him he didn't think he would ever be able to survive something like that again. Sam confessed it was the inmates he was charged with, 'his boys' as he called them, who kept him going, gave him the family he'd wanted to share with Em for so long. Cam closed his eyes and shook his head. Sam was more of a dad to him than his own father had ever been. In fact, the shirt on his back was bought by Sam. Literally.

Sam returned with a tray of food.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up Emily," Cam mumbled.

Sam tousled Cameron's hair in a paternal manner. "Any chance to think about her is a good one."

Cameron half smiled. Sam was so damn optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. "I need some of your happy pills," he grumbled before taking a sip of soda.

Sam chuckled and bit into his burger.

"So what did you forget to tell me?" Cameron asked some time later.

Sam was finishing the last bite of his lunch when he finally said, "The halfway house you're going to."

"Yeah?" Cameron encouraged.

"It's run by Matt. Matthew Doner and his partner, Julian Capeletti."

Cameron looked at him suspiciously. "Partner as is business partner?" he asked.

"No, well, yeah, but as his 'partner' partner, too," he said, using air quotes.

Cameron knew he must have had a blank look on his face.

"Do you prefer the term
boyfriend
instead? 'Cause if you say that around Julian, he'd probably kick your ass," Sam said before finishing off his soda.

Cameron didn't know how to respond. It was a mix of not knowing what to say or do and the realization that he would be living under the same roof as a couple who wouldn't be bothered by him being gay.

"They're cool, you'll like them," Sam said as he placed his empty cup and items back on the tray. "That is, assuming you ignore the occasional puppy dog stares and suck face they sneak in when they think no one is looking."

Cameron's eyes widened. "You're kidding right?"

"Listen, they're great. Matt is very easy to talk to. Julian makes a strong first impression but he's a teddy bear. Just don't tell him I told you that," Sam warned. "I think you'll fit in perfectly."

Cameron finished his drink as he exited the booth while Sam dumped the trash in the bin and looked at his watch.

"C'mon, Cam. We need to make sure we don't hit traffic or we'll miss the deadline," Sam said, picking up the pace a bit.

Cameron knew better than to start things on a bad note. Even though Sam was taking him to the halfway house, it was still considered a prison transfer, a furlough, with a very strict timeframe to arrive at his destination. He damn sure didn't want to start raising any red flags this soon after his release. He picked up the pace and headed out to Sam's car, glad to escape the sensory chaos of the rest stop service plaza.

"They want to enter a plea."

Hunter Donovan, Assistant State Attorney, tore his focus away to look at his assistant. "Of course they do, because they don't stand a chance in hell," he responded in a level tone then turned his attention back to review the case file on his desk.

Hunter looked up again to see his assistant worrying his lip. "What is it?"

Jessie Vega fidgeted with the files in his hand. "They're outside."

"So, walk out there and tell them no."

"He brought a team this time. It's not just the one attorney anymore. They won't take no for an answer."

"Oh really?" Hunter said with a raised eyebrow. He loved a challenge. The staff endlessly teased him on the appropriateness of his name. When Hunter decided to take down someone in court, the defendant became his prey. He was proud of his win statistics, but more so for the legitimacy of them.

"Wait—" Jessie started when Hunter launched from his chair to the office door.

Hunter exited and looked over to his left to see a group of three sharply-dressed men with briefcases surrounding the accused. There was no way this thug was able to afford the obvious high-end team of attorneys. One of their designer suits could easily pay several months of mortgage payments for most people.

The man he assumed hired this crew was the leader of the rapidly growing drug problem in town. The only tie between the drug pusher in the midst of the suits to the newly self-appointed drug kingpin was a simple marking on the nickel bags on the street. The same emblem found on the supply when this idiot was busted trying to hire a hooker for the night while transporting the stash. For some reason, the drug king wanted to keep this moron around. He just hadn't been able to figure out why.

He put on his game face and walked over to the team of men. He stood directly in front of the thug while his eyes scanned the accompanying crew. After making eye contact with each of the attorneys, he looked to the accused, and said one word, "No," then turned to walk away.

"Mr. Donovan, we wish to make a plea," he heard someone say forcefully.

Hunter turned again to face them. "Do you
wish
to tell me who hired you?" When he didn't get a response, he said, "As I said, my answer is no."

"You are making a grave error, Mr. Donovan."

Hunter slowly took a deep breath and walked back to the attorney who spoke from the group. "Are you threatening me?"

"No, Mr. Donovan, of course not," the man returned with an equal stare.

"Sounded like a threat, and I'm certain the entire office will agree with me." Hunter knew he was playing with fire but he needed to say something that would draw the room's attention and shift the power from the team back to him.

As expected, he heard a hum of chatter from his staff quickly followed by complete silence.

The attorney looked away briefly. "I simply meant it would be to your benefit to listen to our request."

"The only benefit I care for is information. Is that what you have to offer?"

"May we speak in your office?"

"Answer my question."

"In your office," the man responded in a firmer tone.

"Answer. My. Question."

"I come to offer something of value," the attorney responded with a negotiating tone.

"To you."

"To many," the man quickly corrected with a smirk.

"My answer is still no. I'll see you in court," Hunter finished before turning to return to his office.

"Maybe," one of the men said with a wry laugh.

Hunter continued his trek to his office, his steps not faltering a beat. He had managed to hold off opposing counsel for three months. Now with just under two weeks before trial, they were still soliciting him to plea. He had high hopes to be able to rid the streets of this new drug crisis—even if it was only one pusher at a time. He assumed this meant no one on his side of the table had been bought out.
Yet.

According to the docket, Judge Peter Gonzalez was assigned to the court date. Hunter's father and Peter served together when they were younger. Peter opted to follow the legal field while Hunter's father chose to pursue his love for teaching. They were all friends, but knew how to clearly separate work from personal. He and Peter shared the same sentiments regarding their hometown: they'd clean up the streets, one case at a time.

He sat at his desk and noticed his assistant still hovering.

"Was there something else?"

"Thank you," Jessie continued to fidget. "They wouldn't leave."

"How long were they out there?"

"About fifteen minutes."

Hunter smiled. "You got them to wait that long? I'm impressed."

Jessie beamed. "I tried."

"Are those for me?"

"Oh yes, sorry," he said, handing over the stack of red folders.

Hunter scowled. "Who sent them over?"

"Same messenger."

"Shit." They had already investigated the courier. Squeaky clean history and it was damn near impossible to get any information from the confidential messenger service that employed him. Hunter despised the mysterious 'watch list' as he called it. It seemed someone higher up thought it was a good idea to keep tabs on recently released ex-cons who were likely to be repeat offenders.
So much for prison reform.
Even though, statistically, the red files were freakishly accurate in their predictions, he hated not knowing where the hell they came from—especially considering the degree of detail included in each case. He found it unsettling. Regardless, he was compelled to review the files for the sake of knowing what the hell was going on.

Hunter sighed. It was going to take him hours to get through these new cases. In typical red file fashion, each folder was about two inches thick and overflowing with endless chronological case files, mug shots, reports, background checks, and more. Some even included daily logs of surveillance after an inmate's release from prison.

He looked at his watch. "Damn it."

"Is there a problem with one of the files?"

"I think I missed the cookie window."

Jessie looked at him with a contorted expression.

"Never mind. I'm taking an early lunch. I'll review some of the cases while I'm out," he said, taking the red files and storing them in his briefcase. "Make sure I don't have anything for this afternoon please. It's going to take me a while to go through these."

"You got it."

Hunter grabbed his case and exited the office at a brisk pace. He could stand up to a team of goons and fight an unknown kingpin to the very end, but there was no way he could miss Lucy's homemade cookies. He had to make it to the diner and hope there was still one left with his name on it.

A man had priorities. Everything else just had to wait.

* * * *

Sam pulled his car up to the front of a place that looked like a house sandwiched between large office buildings. He turned the car off and looked over to Cameron. "Ready?"

"Yeah," he said then shrugged before exiting the car. He looked up at the two story house and wondered why the hell someone would want to have a house in this location. It just looked…odd. Definitely unexpected and, ironically, very welcoming. Well, better than barbed wire and a huge metal gate.

He walked up the path to the house and assessed the garden, or lack thereof. The landscaping needed some major work. With a bit of flowers, mulch, and a few trees, it would look dramatically different.

Sam met him at the door with a file in hand. He knocked then rang the doorbell.
Jeez, he's pushy with everyone, it seems
.

A dark-haired man opened the door with a huge smile and a ready hug. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, Matt," he said, finally releasing him. "This is Cameron."

"Hi," he said, extending his hand. "Welcome to Halfway House, I'm Matthew Doner. Come on in."

Cam entered the halfway house, prison,
whatever
, and looked around. It was definitely built with the welcoming feel of a home with a living room, kitchen, and a wooden stairwell leading to a second floor. This wasn't a prison, it didn't look like one, and it certainly didn't smell like one. Cam closed his eyes and was instantly flooded with memories of his childhood home. The good ones—when his mom would be there waiting for him when he'd get home from school. He shook his head to dispel the vivid memories.