Cover Up (3 page)

Back on the first floor, he was still alone, so Ivan wandered downstairs.

The basement was damp and unfinished. An old beast of a furnace hulked in a shadowed corner. A few bare bulbs extending from ceiling beams illuminated the depressive gray of the cinder-block walls. Aside from the furnace, which Ivan could hardly believe functioned, the basement held nothing more than a few more cardboard boxes darkened with damp, a washer and dryer, and shelving units.

He pounded back up to the second floor and was unpacking his clothes when the front door opened.

“Hello?”

Who the fuck was that? The smoky voice tightened Ivan’s belly like someone had just stroked his balls. Ivan closed the drawer, wondering if he should respond.

“Ivan, are you here?”

Oh, shit. Parker? Why hadn’t anyone warned him Parker’s voice was like dark amber honey distilled with sex?

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Ivan wasn’t sure how well his cover would work, but this wasn’t the best time for second thoughts. College had been a long fucking time past. Ivan looked younger than his thirty-four years, but Parker was more than ten years younger. How were they going to connect enough for Parker to trust him? And trust him maybe more than his boyfriend, Neil?

Drawing in a deep breath, Ivan wiped his palms on his jeans and mentally ran through his cover story. He was beginning to hate the undercover work. Or was it just the Drug Squad he hated? Each role became more grueling.

Ivan walked into the kitchen, where Parker was putting groceries into the fridge. He wore a soft, well-worn green T-shirt and a pair of loose jeans. Parker was slim and tall, probably a couple of inches taller than Ivan’s own five-eleven.

“Hi,” Ivan said softly.

Parker didn’t turn but continued with his task while Ivan took in what he could see of Parker from behind. His hair was dark brown, spiked with golden tips that looked like a blond dye job growing out, a look Ivan had a sneaking fondness for.

“Hi.” Parker placed the last container of yogurt on a shelf and shut the door. “There. All done. I was hoping to finish before you got here.”

Parker turned around.

Ivan clutched at the counter.

Oh holy hell. Ivan had expected a complication, but not like this. Parker was fucking gorgeous. Almost androgynous, with sharply chiseled features and soft-looking full lips. And his eyes. Eyes that looked like the smooth stones at the bottom of a creek bed. Gray, green, flecks of gold, surrounded by the thickest, longest lashes Ivan had ever seen on a man. Ivan could stare at those eyes for hours. The hair was perfect for him. It suited this damned amazing-looking man. Who could be a fucking model if he wanted to be.

Oh God. Ivan had to live with him. Try to be friends with him. Keep his hands off him and pretend to be fucking straight.

“Sorry, I’m Parker.” Parker held out his hand, his sweet smile softening the planes of his face like the old silver-screen stars seen through Vaseline-smeared lenses.

Ivan stepped closer to the counter and shook Parker’s hand, thankful the counter was high enough to hide the bulge growing in his pants.

“I’m Ivan.” His voice was gruff, probably sounded curt. At least, he hoped it did. If Parker knew how appealing he was to Ivan, it would be impossible to find out what he needed to know. Hitting on someone’s boyfriend wasn’t cool, especially when it wasn’t one of the stated parameters of the op. Even if Martelli believed gay men fucked instead of shaking hands, it would be difficult for Ivan to entice this hot young thing into his bed. Ivan was good-looking, but nothing like this Adonis. And he wasn’t old enough to satisfy any daddy kink Parker might have.

“Nice to meet you.” Parker’s voice rumbled through his narrow chest. He didn’t look skinny or bony, but that deep voice definitely didn’t match his physique.

“Do you drink?” Parker asked.

“Yeah, sure, just about anything.” True, but that made him sound like a lush.

“Oh, good. I hoped you might. I brought some beer home. Thought we could order a pizza, have a few beers, and get to know each other.”

Ivan stared at Parker. This was more considerate than he’d expected from his organized crime-connected, drug-dealing roomie.

“Uh. If you want, that is.” Parker’s smile slipped away at Ivan’s lengthy pause, replaced by a hesitant look. Ivan felt like he’d singlehandedly pulled the clouds across the sun. How could one smile make such a fucking difference?

“Sure. That sounds great. My treat.” Ivan tried to regain his lost ground. An unhappy Parker would not be a forthcoming Parker.

Parker tilted his head to the side, like a bird. “Oh. But I thought….” His cheeks pinked up, and he dropped his gaze.

Christ. His fucking cover. He had to get into the mindset of Ivan Baker, loser. “Hey, it’s okay. My wife took just about everything in the divorce, but I can spring for a pizza without raiding the sofa cushions for change. I promise.”

Parker chuckled, and that thousand-calorie smile returned. It was a treat on which Ivan wanted to gorge himself. Why, oh why, couldn’t Parker look like the fucking lowlifes he arrested all the time? Not one criminal had ever filled him with the urge to slide his fingers into their hair, desperate to pull lips down atop his own.

Fuck.

F
UCK
. Parker’s new roommate was pissed about something. Nerves twisted his stomach. Maybe he should have asked for a woman. Parker didn’t know how to make friends with guys, especially not sexy, straight, older guys who probably had boatloads of life experience and… what would they talk about? He didn’t know a lot about sports or cars or sex with women. Hell, he hadn’t had sex with many people at all, despite having given up his virginity six years ago.

Neil thought he was an idiot for wanting a roommate. The sweet lady at the university housing office told him mid-semester was the worst time to search for one. When she’d called telling him she had a candidate, although not a student, Parker had been ecstatic. A newly divorced man might be as lonely as he was, because the emptiness of his place was crushing him, and Neil refused to move in. He certainly hadn’t expected to find the guy attractive.

“So, beer?” Parker proffered the chilled bottle, hoping the booze would ease the way. He didn’t want Neil to be right. The desperation to prove Neil wrong intensified as Ivan’s lips thinned and he reached out for the bottle.

“Thanks. Have you got a local pizza place you like, or should I just call Pizza Pizza?”

“Pizza Pizza’s good.” It was Parker’s favorite, anyway. Being able to call a single phone number, no matter where you were in the city, and get a decent pizza delivered was a boon to both students and stoners alike.

“I saw you had a sweet TV out there. Want to put something on while I call?”

“Uh, sure.” What the hell was he supposed to put on? Clearly they weren’t going to talk. Probably that was too much to expect. They weren’t on a date. Parker grimaced. He assumed straight guys used TV as an avoidance mechanism, just like the gay guys he knew.

With a sigh, he sank down on the couch. Neil had talked him into getting the entertainment system, but it hadn’t taken long for Parker to realize it wasn’t for Parker’s benefit. He fiddled with the remote, postponing turning it on.

“What do you want on your pizza?” Ivan called from the kitchen.

Parker rubbed his belly and frowned. “Pepperoni’s fine.”

He couldn’t tell what Ivan’s grunt meant, but the subsequent low rumble was obviously the man ordering pizza, even though Parker couldn’t distinguish any specific words.

A few minutes later, while Parker stared at the remote in his hands, Ivan strode out of the kitchen and flung himself down in the armchair. The room seemed smaller, somehow, even though Ivan was a couple inches shorter than Parker. Those shoulders, though, were wide enough to steal Parker’s breath, and under the boring blue golf shirt was a super fit body. Not that he would have tried anything if Ivan had sat beside him on the couch. The proximity of good-looking men made him squirmy and stupid.

Ivan stretched out a hand, and Parker stared at it for a moment before he let out an embarrassed chuff of laughter and handed over the remote.

“Let’s see what you’ve got to make this TV worthwhile.”

Ivan flipped on the TV with the practiced hand of a veteran. The huge expanse of flesh on the enormous screen clued Parker in to what Neil had been watching last as the room filled with moans and the slick sound of adequately lubed fucking. The camera pulled back to bring into focus a giant cock pumping into someone’s ass. Parker’s entire body chilled as all available blood rushed to his face—probably not the moviemaker’s intended result. He leapt over the coffee table, slamming his shin against it as he went, and scrabbled at the DVD player. Goddamn Neil.

Doing his best to block the screen with his body, Parker waited an eternity for the disc to slide out. After what seemed like several hellish minutes, the blessed blue menu screen replaced the oversized cock, set of balls, and full moon. He snatched the disc out of the player and tossed it behind the TV. Serve Neil right if it broke. Probably pirated anyway.

With dread—and a face on fire—Parker turned back to Ivan. Had he noticed it was two guys fucking? When Parker first advertised for a roommate, it never occurred to him to mention he was gay, but suddenly that seemed a huge mistake. The hard, curved biceps peeking out of his short sleeves were testament to the power Ivan could put behind a punch. Parker’s shin throbbed, reminding him of how vulnerable a body could be.

“Um.”

Stunned wasn’t disgusted—or homicidal—was it? Or in this case, homo-cidal?

Ivan’s lips worked, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s not mine.” Parker wanted to call back the words as soon as they escaped. Seriously, could he have sounded any more guilty?

Ivan cut a glance at the couch, and Parker’s face burned hotter than before. Was he imagining Parker sitting there, jerking off? Would it be any less embarrassing—or icky—to explain it was Neil? Because Parker didn’t want to think about that either. Undoubtedly, Ivan was pleased he hadn’t sat on the couch. It was going to take a supreme effort of will for Parker to sit back on the couch before he’d had it scotch-guarded.

“Okay.” Ivan sounded almost like he believed Parker. “You want to…?” Ivan waved the remote, and a fresh flood of mortification swamped Parker as he moved from his protective and obstructive stance in front of the TV.

Trying not to be too obvious, Parker inspected the couch. He couldn’t see any new stains, and he limped around the coffee table to sit down gingerly.

Ivan flipped on the retro video station before turning to him. Parker hadn’t really taken the time to look at his new roommate in the kitchen, but now he did. Ivan had the wide-set eyes and sharply defined cheekbones Parker associated with Eastern European men, similar to the guys Neil had brought around on occasion, but so rugged and gorgeous it hurt. Golden blond hair and dark blue eyes and a body without an ounce of fat, although Parker wouldn’t mind making a thorough, naked inspection to be sure. Just as some of the blood left his face—finally—for a point farther south, Ivan raised a brow questioningly.

Parker coughed and glanced at the video playing on the TV. He didn’t recognize it, but there was a lot of spiky, bleached hair. He shouldn’t have been staring at his new roommate, assuming he hadn’t scared Ivan off already. Even if Ivan wasn’t straight, he was way out of Parker’s league. Probably thought he was nothing more than some dumb university kid who spent all his free time whacking off on the sofa.

The silence stretched out endlessly, punctuated by the distinctive wail of eighties electronica. Ivan must not have realized the DVD had shown two guys fucking, or he would have said something, wouldn’t he? Although Ivan’s intent stare was very much like one of his professors trying to catch someone in a lie, which was a little weird.

“Did you, uh, find your room? Is it okay? We can move some of the furniture around. The laundry’s downstairs, and we can make a schedule for cleaning and shopping and stuff and—” Parker broke off. His words had accelerated, but he hadn’t been able to put on the brakes until his breath ran out, even though Ivan’s eyes had widened partway through his speech. Embarrassment flared in his face—again—and he bit his lip to stop himself from saying another word. This was why he didn’t have many friends aside from Neil. Neil was the only one who’d hung out with the fat kid and stuck around after Parker had shed the weight but retained his social idiocy.

Ivan frowned, and Parker frowned back, unsure where to go from here. He shifted his legs and caught his shin on the edge of the coffee table again.

“Ow. Fuck.” Throbbing pain exploded where he’d hit his leg during his ungainly leap over the table, and he wrapped a hand around it, rocking and biting his lip to keep in any whimpers.

“Let me look.” Ivan left his seat to drop to his knees by Parker, making him freeze.

With gentle fingers, Ivan moved Parker’s hand and slid the leg of Parker’s jeans up. He pressed his fingers around the contusion, the pain making Parker hiss.

“You’re going to have a nasty bruise, and you broke the skin, but not badly. No fracture, I don’t think. Have you got a first aid kit?” Ivan stared up into his face, and Parker had a little trouble catching his breath.

“Yes, um, in the bathroom. Under the sink.” Parker waved toward the front of the house.

Ivan patted his knee and rose, heading for the bathroom.

“Most houses this old don’t have bathrooms on this floor.” The tile inside the bathroom made Ivan’s voice warble slightly.

“True. But after my mom got sick, we had a bathroom put in so she could stay at home and not worry about stairs.”

White plastic box in hand, Ivan stepped out of the bathroom and stared at Parker. Again.

“Your mom lived here?” Ivan glanced around the room, and Parker nodded.

“Yeah. Near the end, she had difficulty getting around, so we had the bathroom put in and set this room up as a bedroom.”

“Where does she live now?”

Parker dropped his gaze to the purplish, bloodied lump on his shin and shrugged. His mom had been his best friend, and although he’d had a couple years to prepare for her death, it had still rocked him. Even now, almost six months later, he’d sometimes call out to her when he got home. At least Neil had never heard him do that.