A Hunted Man (The Men of Halfway House) (4 page)

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cam said weakly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You're a horrible liar."

Cam looked up and saw the green-eyed guy staring intently at him as if waiting for a better response.

Cam shrugged. "I'm fine."

My problem and I'll deal with it on my own just as I have for so many years.

The man pursed his lips and arched an eyebrow. He extended his hand in greeting. "I'm Julian."

"I figured," he mumbled as he shook the offered hand. He glanced over to see Matt standing in the doorway with a concerned look on his face.

Julian turned to look over his shoulder. "He'll be fine," he said to Matt. "He just got out after ten years. He's entitled to a little freak-out."

Matt nodded and forced a smile, the worry still evident in his expression. "I need to finish some paperwork," he said before leaving the room.

"Thanks," Cam said quietly, pulling at a string on his jeans.

"No problem. So, what caused you to panic?"

Cam sighed and glared at the stubborn man who took a seat next to him on the bed.

Julian sat silently for several nerve-wracking minutes, waiting for a reply.

One thing Cam had learned while inside…shut the hell up and don't say a word.

Julian exhaled heavily after a few more minutes. "If you live under this roof, you're going to have to learn to talk," he said as he stood. "Talk, not yell. Understand?"

Cam looked up and nodded. He could follow instructions.

"We've got a counselor available if you prefer to talk to a pro. Otherwise, you're going to have to talk to Matt or me about whatever the hell is getting you worked up."

Cam nodded again.

"Silence is not an option. Talk, write it down, draw a picture, use sign language…I don't care. Pick one that works for you."

Cam stared back at Julian without a response.

"We're here to help you, Cam, whether you believe it or not. If you don't talk, you go back inside or to a different Community Corrections Center. We don't have as many rules as the other centers, but this is one rule we are strict on. Understand?"

Cam nodded and tried to swallow past the knot in his throat.
I'll do anything to not go back to prison.

Julian walked to the door and turned before leaving. "One more thing. You ever scare Matt like this again—"

"I'll have to deal with you," Cam said. The message conveyed in that glare was loud and clear.

Cam knew a lot of guys in prison who could talk a good game and used empty threats to establish their ground or walked around as if they owned the cellblock. It was all a façade, just a strategic way to avoid getting confronted and appear as if they were more than they actually were. He'd seen enough of these guys to know who
the fakers
were. He looked at Julian. He was the quiet guy, the one you watched out for, the one who didn't bother to talk about it. Rather, they were more men of action than words. Tall, well over six feet, with a frame built from manual labor, his entire presence was just intimidating and exuded a
don't-fuck-with-me
attitude that made you stop and turn the other way, if you could.

Every ounce of common sense told him not to piss off the man staring back at him.

"Good. I'm glad you understand my language. So you don't have an excuse to avoid the talking requirement. Dinner's at six. Don't be late," he finished with a glare as he walked out of the room.

Cameron stood by the window again. He was finally
out
. He breathed in the hot afternoon Miami air, so different from that of prison. It was pure, raw city magnified by the heat and humidity—a far cry from the stale sweat and urine aroma he'd experienced serving his time. He reached out and let his hand extend past the window frame. No bars, no wire mesh on the glass. He flexed his fingers and watched the play of shadows against his palm.

Cam smiled. He was out of prison.

One step at a time.

He figured he'd start with a shower, in
his
bathroom. Then, check to see if any of the clothes fit, get settled in, and squeeze in a short nap before he fell over from exhaustion. He needed to set the alarm just in case he passed out.

Being late for dinner wasn't an option.

* * * *

Hunter finally managed to escape the building after the last 'do you have a second' hallway discussions with various coworkers.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he walked into his favorite diner at the end of the block. Not only did this little hideaway offer him a place to escape the constant office interruptions, but Lucy made the best damn homemade cookies in town. Once a day, and only a handful of batches. He hoped he hadn't missed his chance to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Lucy wasn't at the register.
Damn, that probably means she's gone for the day
. Bill, her husband of forty years, was manning the coffee and sandwich orders from the late lunch customers. Without asking, Bill mixed the right amount of sugar and cream into a cup of coffee before handing it to Hunter. He preferred the Starbucks down the street rather than Bill's bitter brew, but he couldn't put a price on the peace and quiet every day at this diner and the fact that they'd let him commandeer a corner when he needed an escape from the office. And the irresistible cookies probably laced with some controlled substance.

"Thanks, Bill," Hunter said. Like an addict looking for a cookie fix, he scanned the deli for Bill's wife. "Where's Lucy today?" he finally asked when he didn't see her.

"She'll be here in a moment, she's on the phone," Bill responded before returning to the sandwich orders.

Hunter patiently sipped his coffee as he waited. After a few moments, Lucy finally emerged from the back room and smiled broadly when she saw him.

"You're late," she playfully scolded.

If he was late, that meant he missed the cookies.
Damn.
"Tough morning," he finally said with a somber grin.

She looked at him and smiled. "Well, I've got something for you that might make it a better afternoon," she said, reaching under the counter for a bag.

Hunter peered into the bag and saw two large chocolate chip cookies. He immediately reached in and, within seconds, had a mouthful of cookie. "You're an angel."

Lucy shook her head. "You need to have something to eat aside from cookies. How about your turkey sandwich today?"

"I could live off your cookies."

"Don't let Bill hear you say that," she laughed as she rung up his order.

Hunter cautiously looked over to Bill. "It's one of the reasons I married her," Bill joked, then lovingly gazed at his wife before turning to make a fresh pot of coffee.

Hunter yearned to know what it was like to love someone for so long. Know their quirks, joke openly, then, with a simple look, convey a telepathic
I love you
that was unmistakably genuine.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked with concern. "You seem a bit…off."

"Office, issues, drama. Do you mind if I camp out here for a while today," he asked hopefully.

Lucy patted his hand and nodded. "We've already told you a million times, you don't need to ask. Just make sure you eat before you lose track of time with your paperwork," she finished.

Hunter set up his workspace in the corner and settled in. He munched on his sandwich as the remaining cookie sat on the table, beckoning him. He really needed to do something about this bad habit. Thankfully, he took advantage of his gym membership several times a week to stay in shape.

With his sweet tooth finally satisfied, he tried to relax for a few minutes before diving into work. Bill neared his campout area in the corner to wipe the tables other patrons had used.

"Is Lucy okay? She looked a bit tired," Hunter asked. Bill and Lucy were great but they were along in their years and working the diner a full day was obviously wearing on them.

The older man shuffled the towel from one hand to the other then looked over his shoulder to the back area. "She's been tired a lot lately. She's a stubborn hen, always trying to do everything. I'm surprised she lets me make the coffee and sandwiches." Bill shrugged and continued to wipe down the remaining tables.

Hunter tried to focus on his case files rather than worry about the woman who reminded him so much of his mother. He remembered the times when he'd bake with his mom. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies would fill the air of their small home. Somehow, his mother always knew when he'd had a hard day at school. She'd stand in the doorway and watch as Hunter would step off the bus. As soon as he'd see her with her apron wrapped around her waist and the wooden spoon in hand, he knew she waited for him to start baking. He never seemed to run to the house fast enough on those days. It was their private time. While mixing the dough, they'd chat about school, the pop quiz that was too difficult, or the bully who'd tried to take Hunter's lunch money. Lucy reminded him of his mom, and her cookies filled the diner with the same aroma that brought back so many special memories for him.

He imagined his parents would be like Lucy and Bill if his mom were still alive. His father, still to this day, reminisced about the love of his life. Hunter was one of the lucky ones with parents who were always sneaking kisses and holding hands every chance they had. He grew up in a house surrounded by love and the happiness that love created. After his mom passed away, yes, there was sadness, but also an overwhelming amount of wonderful memories.

He was starting to lose hope that one day he would find that with someone. He had just had a birthday a few months ago and knew finding someone became more difficult with each passing year. He was now officially a forty-year-old lonely man.
Lovely
. He never thought he'd reach this age and still be alone, but he was also never one to settle for anything.

He tore himself from his melancholy thoughts and tried to focus on the case files. He had a good two hours before his assistant would call. He could get a lot done without the interruptions. He took a deep cleansing breath and channeled his focus on the report in hand.

* * * *

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Cameron reached out and slapped the source of the annoying noise. He looked over and saw the time display, then reluctantly dragged himself out of bed still wearing the towel wrapped loosely around his waist from his shower earlier.

Brushing his teeth, he ran a hand through his hair and caught sight of the scar and ink slashes on his upper bicep. He hated it so much he deliberately tried to avoid mirrors and short sleeves. He didn't want the constant reminder of prison or the memory of being held down, gagged, and marked against his will. He turned away from the mirror, disgusted by his own reflection. He had killed a man and had accepted the fact that he was accountable for taking a life. But almost a decade of constant fear of stepping outside the boundaries, the beatings, the torture, the threats, it was all just too much. They would look for him once they found out he'd been released. It was inevitable. They had made that very clear to him while inside—that he would be watched and reminded of what he had done and how he needed to stay exactly where he was.

He tried to fight back the anger that threatened this potential new start in his life. He took a few deep breaths to calm his heartbeat and steady his shaky hands.

One day at a time.

When he managed to calm himself, he searched through the closet and found jeans that fit and a blue T-shirt with sleeves long enough to cover the scars. He brushed his hair and tried to look presentable.

He walked downstairs and heard voices coming from the kitchen. It sounded as if Matt and Julian were having a discussion about the finishing details on the house. The chatter halted when he entered the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, tugging his shirt sleeves down then crossing his arms.

Seeing Matt and Julian together was a case study in opposite attractions. Matt was welcoming and polite with a refined, clean-cut air about him that felt as if he had had people drive him around for the better part of his life. He was about Cam's height and lean with fair skin that set off his bright blue eyes and dark hair.

Julian had clear green eyes that offered up a glare that would make a grizzly cringe. He looked as if he didn't want to be bothered and opted for a shadow of hair on his head instead of any style. He appeared exotic with an all-over olive-bronze coloring to his skin Cam was certain people spent small fortunes to acquire.

Matt smiled. "We were just talking about a few details we wanted to do to the house. Would you care to chime in?" he asked expectantly.

Cam shook his head. He wasn't sure what they expected of him. In prison, opinions didn't matter. If one was needed it was given to you.

"Okay," Matt said quietly, deflated, then started to set the table for dinner.

Julian glared at Cameron.

Shit.
"Um, like…what?" he tried to quickly correct.

Matt brightened. "Well, I'd love your thoughts on whether you felt this place was welcoming. First impressions are important. I want to make sure our guests feel as if they've arrived to a new home. That's how we see it. So it really matters to us what you think about the house, your room, things like that."

Julian half smiled as he looked at Matt. He might come across as tough but there was no doubt the man was insanely in love with his partner and tried to please him.

"Um, the room is nice."

"Great!" Matt launched into a discussion about the color scheme choices and asked whether he liked the tones in the room and his thoughts about any needed changes.

"The room doesn't need any changes. Um…" He hesitated and looked over at Julian for an indication to continue.

Julian quirked an eyebrow then slightly nodded.

"The house is very welcoming, but I think it would"—he thought for a moment as he chose his words—"look more inviting if you added some landscaping out front. And you've got so much space in the back, you could do the same there too."