Drawn Together (23 page)

As Rory watched, Yamane leaned back against the truck and put his arms around himself. He was probably cold. He seemed very small there, next to the huge vehicle, and Rory’s heart felt tighter somehow. More drops of rain came down, and Yamane looked up at them as if he’d never seen rain before. Rory filled out the information card and paid for the room.

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Once inside the room, their silence continued unabated. Rory set up his laptop and got out his map, while Yamane put their toiletry kits into the bathroom. When he returned, he stood just inside the sleeping area of the room with his back against the wall.

“Rory?”

“Hm?” Rory was checking his e-mail. “Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” said Yamane, still wrapping his arms around himself.

Rory turned off his laptop and walked to where Yamane was standing. “Are you cold?”

“Not really.” Yamane’s eyes began to shimmer. “I just feel…”

“Me too…” Rory took Yamane into his arms. Rory lifted Yamane off his feet and turned with him, walking to one of the double beds. “Kiss me like you did that first time.” Yamane pushed Rory back onto the bed and kissed him, climbing on top of him.

“Rory… Rory…” Yamane murmured against Rory’s lips. “I know I hurt you. I am so sorry.”

“Shh,” whispered Rory. “Just kiss me.”

* * * * *

Rene Chanfreau returned to the sheriff’s office concerned. He had spoken to Yancy, who told him that the strangers in town were looking not for Euphonia and Claude, but for Rory and some Japanese man. Chanfreau knew that Rory often picked up strays, although in his experience they tended to be beautiful young women. That an older woman and a whole bunch of men were in St. Antoine’s Parish looking for Rory Delaplaines didn’t feel right somehow. He picked up the phone in his office and looked up a number from his Rolodex.

Just in case, he thought he’d call Rory’s mom and see what was what.

“Hello?” a woman answered.

“Hello.” Rene consulted the Rolodex again. “Elizabeth? Is this Elizabeth Hutchins?” There was a pause, as though the listener didn’t know what to do. “Yes, that’s me…”

“Hello,” Rene began. “This is Rene Chanfreau, from out to St. Antoine’s Parish.

Nothing’s wrong at all, I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions, okay?”

“Uh, sure,” she said. “Are Mother and Daddy Delaplaines okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine, ma’am. I wanted to ask about Rory. Is he there in New Orleans with you?”

“No, sir, he’s not. He went to California to chase that artist he’s so crazy about. I guess he got into some trouble somehow, though.”

Rene felt the skin on the back of his neck pucker. “What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know much about it. I guess he got mugged and half beat to death, but the officer said he got back in his car and drove off so it couldn’t be too bad. Rory’s tough; he’ll be fine.” She didn’t sound like she believed it 100 percent. Rene could hear a man bellowing in the background.

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“Did you get the name of the officer you talked to, Mrs. Hutchins, or better yet, the phone number?” He crossed his fingers.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got it right here on the fridge.” She muffled her voice -- probably with a hand over the receiver -- and yelled something that he couldn’t understand. “It’s a number from over in Long Beach, I guess. Do you want it? My boy’s not in trouble, is he?”

“No, ma’am, Rory’s a good boy. It’s probably nothing,” said Rene. “But I’ll look into it, okay?” He took down the number, double-checked it with her, and then rang off. He looked at what he’d written. Jenkins. Detective Jenkins.

* * * * *

Rory and Yamane sat across from each other on the double bed. In an unprecedented gesture of goodwill, Rory was letting Yamane smoke a cigarette. Yamane sat cross-legged, watching every move Rory made. Rory just stared back at him.

“Can you talk to me?” Yamane asked.

“I’m so tired. I can’t think straight anymore.”

“I see. A lot has happened. Do you regret --”

“No. It’s not like that. I don’t regret anything; not about you…never.”

“Can I draw you?” asked Yamane, putting his cigarette out.

“Sure,” said Rory roughly. Yamane was concentrating on his sketch pad. He looked up and caught a slight softening of Rory’s features.

“You’re kind of a player with men, aren’t you, Yamane? You’re like I was with girls.” Yamane pushed his hair behind his ear with one shaking hand, while the other stilled in the act of drawing. “I know it could seem like that.” He smoothed the paper out with his hand and began to sketch in the empty space on the page. “Especially after Vegas.”

“Don’t. You don’t have to say anything about that.”

“You say that.” Yamane filled in faces, sketching quickly and quietly. “But you don’t mean it. You want to know. I would in your place, even if it hurt. I went with a man to his room and we had sex all night. Not for either of us was it making love. I suspect he was married with children, and something exotic about me attracted the connoisseur in him. He was kind. He didn’t mind that I called out your name when I came, but he bit me so I wouldn’t do it again.”

“You called my name?”

“Sure. I wanted you. You know that. And the day before, if you recall, you told me, ‘I can’t.’ So I thought, well, what the hell? I’m an adult and I wanted him. He was confident and attractive, and just about your size. He really, really wanted me. I liked that. I’m not particularly proud of it, but I’m not ashamed either.” Drawn Together

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“No…you shouldn’t be. How many times have I done that? It’s all so confusing. I want something different with you.” He plucked the sketchbook from Yamane’s hands and tossed it on the floor.

“Rory?”

Rory fought the impulse to toss away civility and simply rut, but lost. He wanted this man. He ached with it. He wanted more than to simply renew his connection; he wanted to possess Yamane completely. Rory pushed Yamane over onto his stomach, ridding his lover of the few obstacles of clothing, not caring if he left others still on. Rory rolled a lubricated condom on his cock and used a couple of fingers coated with his saliva to prepare Yamane for him. He clenched his teeth, trying to get out words he knew he needed to say, but finally gave up.

“What I feel for you, Yamane,” he said, gripping Yamane’s hips and raising them to his throbbing cock. “I can’t begin to say with words.” Yamane gasped. “I understand.”

“Ready?” Rory tried to be as gentle, as careful, as he could.

Moving slowly at first, Rory waited for Yamane to open, to relax against him. The unbelievable pleasure he felt when Yamane began to meet him with a small amount of resistance melted his resolve. Yamane was so hot, so tight, that soon Rory was pushing harder, going deeper with every thrust, grinding into him as his balls slapped Yamane’s thighs.

Yamane braced himself against the headboard while Rory rocked and twisted on him.

Reaching around Yamane’s body, Rory grasped his cock, working it with one hand while holding Yamane’s hip in a punishing grip. Yamane pushed back hard against him, his cries smothered in a pillow.

When at last Rory felt Yamane climax, he allowed himself to tumble into his own searing orgasm. Rory thought about telling Yamane that sex had never meant more or been more powerful for him that it was just then, but abandoned that in favor of maintaining his connection with kisses and gentle nudging. He wanted to stay like this, locked with the man he loved, forever.

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Chapter Twentytwo

At ten a.m. on Thursday, Rene Chanfreau finally got ahold of the detective named Jenkins and learned the whole sordid tale of Rory’s encounter with the psychotic Amelia Gianfranco in Long Beach. He cursed soundly as he hung up the phone. He got up from his desk, calling for Ruthie, his dispatcher, to radio his deputy to meet him at the Cajun Heritage Motel. He had known something wasn’t right about those people. Their interest in Euphonia and Claude disturbed him. Damn. Jenkins had called the authorities in New Orleans -- why wouldn’t he? He couldn’t possibly know that Rory spent his summers mostly in tiny St.

Antoine’s Parish. Chanfreau was out of the loop, as usual. Rory was on the run heaven knew where, and that crazy woman was trying to flush him out using his grandparents as bait. Shit.

Anthony Laforge, his deputy, was waiting for him just outside the motel. They went to room 203 and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Neither of the two rental cars he’d seen before was in the parking lot. He used the key card the manager had given him to get into the room. He announced himself as he entered. What he found there made him sick.

Anthony literally hurled his breakfast over the balcony. Buzzing flies were already gathering in the summer heat over the corpses of the two stocky men Rene had thought were hired muscle. Rene and Anthony cautiously made their way around them to the bathroom where Anthony found another man.

“Damn!” shouted Anthony. “This one’s alive.” Rene whipped out his radio to get an ambulance on the way, but the way the man was looking, he didn’t think much of his chances. They did what they could for him and tried to keep him comfortable till the paramedics arrived.

“She shot us,” the man said, something like wonder on his face. “She sent Ethan away to do something. He wouldn’t have let her shoot us. He told me. He wouldn’t let her.” The slow man’s voice faded. Rene felt sickened.

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Calderon was gone, and Rene didn’t know where. Amelia had cut her ties to him. After the removal of the wounded man in an ambulance and of the two dead bodies by the medical examiner, he waited in the room, alone. He wasn’t sure if Calderon knew what had happened here today. He might have guessed, in which case he’d probably be long gone, but if he didn’t know, he’d walk right back into this room when he got back. And Rene Chanfreau had every intention of being there when that happened.

* * * * *

Rory could hardly face Yamane over their Grand Slam breakfasts at Denny’s. Even as a teenager, he couldn’t have acted like that. They’d made love, nuzzled, shared secrets, and humped like animals. Yamane colored every time their eyes met. Rory sipped his coffee. If he looked at Yamane he’d probably spit it out. He didn’t want to laugh, but it was a little funny. Rory started to do the hand motions to the happy pancake dance, humming the tune under his breath a little, and Yamane held his napkin to his mouth trying to chew and laugh at the same time. Their eyes met then bounced off each other as if they were magnetic opposites.

“So.” Yamane cleared his throat. “So, today we keep going down the I-35?”

“Do we? Okay.” Rory started to laugh again.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I don’t know.”

Yamane snorted. “I just can’t look at you without…”

“Remembering…”

“Last night…” Yamane sighed. They finished their coffee in two quick gulps and paid the bill. Rory left a nice tip for the waitress and they practically ran out the door, laughing.

Rory helped Yamane into the truck. Yamane gave him the ‘I’m not a princess’ look, but Rory ignored it. He took Yamane’s hand in his. The closer they got to home, the more he worried about what waited for them there. No matter what happened, he wanted to stay by Yamane’s side. He wondered, though, if keeping Yamane with him might be exactly the wrong thing to do.

“Kiss me,” he told Yamane. “Then let’s get on the road.” Yamane obliged him.

* * * * *

Ethan opened his door at about four o’clock in the afternoon after running another useless errand for Amelia. The second he opened the door he was overcome by the awful smell of blood and death. He entered the room warily, knowing something terrible had 142

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happened there, and swallowed hard. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he made out a figure standing by the window.

“The stench is really something, isn’t it? I don’t think we have to stay here, but I want to have a word with you,” said Rene Chanfreau.

“Chanfreau. Can you tell me what happened here?” Ethan asked.

“Uh, yeah. It seems your girlfriend shot three of your friends and then left in one of your rental cars.”

“All dead?” Ethan was white-faced with shock.

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know about the slow one. The two big guys are dead. The slow one was still alive when we got here, and now he’s at the hospital. I’m out of the loop.

I’ve been waiting for you.”

“And Amelia?” asked Ethan icily. “Any idea where she’s gone?”

“Nope. Let’s go to my office where we can talk.” As they left the room, Chanfreau closed and locked the door behind him. Ethan’s cell phone rang. He looked at it and mouthed the word “Amelia” to Chanfreau.

“Calderon. Yes, I saw. What were you thinking?” Chanfreau watched Ethan talk. He wasn’t able to hear Amelia’s part of the conversation.

“Don’t touch the Delaplaineses. If you do and word gets out, you’ll never get Yamane back, is that what you want? Amelia? Shit.” He hung up the phone. “She knows I’ve been stalling for time.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“I’ve been trying to figure a way out of this mess!”

“How about if you start with a visit to my office last week before she got it into her head to kill your friends?”

“I was trying to stay out of jail,” snapped Ethan.

“I’m sure your friends would be really understanding about that, except oops, they’re dead.”

“Shut the hell up. I know! All I want now is for Amelia to get what’s coming to her.”

“Well, Rory and his grandparents are my first concern, and I’m going to do everything I can to see them safe. Tell me everything you know, and I may not feed you to the gators.” Chanfreau unlocked the squad car and allowed Ethan the privilege of sitting in the back after checking him over for weapons.

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Chapter Twentythree

“Talk,” said Rene Chanfreau to the man sitting on the other side of the small interrogation table. Really, it was one of those small portable tables used at picnics and garage sales, made of plastic that folded up easily on metal legs. St. Antoine’s Parish had spared no expense in outfitting its crack team of investigators as usual.