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His grip on Barrett’s flimsy tank top tightened. Ambrose watched Barrett’s gaze sharpen, his lips part. A big hand cupped his jaw, drew him closer. Whatever lingered in the darkness of Barrett’s eyes made Ambrose’s blood heat. “You want to be boyfriends,” Barrett whispered, his touch lingering. Caressing. A moment later, Barrett’s thumb pushed a little into Ambrose’s bottom lip and he let his mouth drop open.
There was no reason for this to be erotic and yet…here he was sucking on Barrett’s thumb like it was his job and he loved every second of it. Ambrose nodded his answer to Barrett, letting his own gaze go butter soft.
“Christ, what you do to me.” Barrett rolled them, then yanked Ambrose back until Barrett could spoon him. The unmistakable ridge of Barrett’s erection pressed against his ass made Ambrose moan.
But Barrett wasn’t done. He flung an arm over Ambrose’s middle, pinned his palm to the mattress. His other arm was under Ambrose’s head. He was being gently, lovingly held in place with Barrett’s even breathing right next to his ear. Gooseflesh rose over every part of him and he wanted to whimper with how good it felt to be held. Taken. Pinned and trapped on his rules, not someone else’s.
“I would love to be your boyfriend.” Barrett’s words were in his ear, pitched so low Ambrose swore he felt them in his ribs, down his spine. “I would love to show you how much I would love that. Would you like that?”
Ambrose arched against him. It was too good, the tight but not too tight grip and the press of Barrett’s body and thatawarenessof him. No need for fight or flight here, where he was safe and cared for. Ambrose wanted to relent. He wanted to give everything Barrett asked of him because he trusted Barrett wouldn’t go too far.
“Please,” Ambrose whispered.
Chapter twenty-two
Barrettleanedforwardinthe too-small chair and nodded at Jacques. “I take it you recognize the car that came in.”
“Yeah, but I want to make sure I’m not seeing things.” Jacques’ weather-beaten face didn’t show a flicker of emotion and somehow that made the worry in Barrett’s gut churn more. “That’s why I asked you to come in before we let the others take a look.”
Well, that wasn’t good. The parks had their fair share of general mischief makers but usually it was a bit of graffiti on the housings of the composting toilets. A few repeat public nudity offenders. No one so deeply invested in their own antics that they would do something like switch out cars to come back and tag another outhouse.
Whatever little voice of instinct had been held at bay by confusion and disbelief started to get louder. All he could hear wasKen. But Val had said he’d dropped off the radar after signing away his rights as Forrest’s father.
“Except for the nasty letter he left, but I let the lawyer have it. Future ammo if he decides to step into our lives.”
“Letter? Val.”
“You’ve been busy, Bear. It’s just a letter. I took a picture of it and then handed it right over to Matthew.”
“Glad you have a good lawyer. Christ.” Barrett tucked the phone under his chin and shifted his glass to the other hand. After a few seconds, his phone beeped with a text message. He scanned the letter, seeing the normal Ken-style bullshit saying Val was a horrible mother and an even worse wife, glad he was done with them, blah blah blah.
But the final paragraph was a doozy, and it made Barrett’s blood run cold.
“I wish you could see what you’ve done to me, what you’ve reduced me to. You were right. I’m not the same man you married. I’m angry and hurt and most importantly, I want back what you took. So since I can’t have that, I’ll figure out a way to take something else. Maybe not from you. But I’ll figure it out. And no matter what, it’ll hurt someone and you’ll feel it, too.”
It was all still conjecture until Barrett watched in stunned silence as Ken’s car passed down the road leading to the lake. To his neighbors and to his home and to Ambrose. Ken’s car was unmistakable; right bastard had to take a bright blue sports car deep into the woods. There were two people in the car; a car with Ken’s plates.
“No fucking way.” He reversed the tape and watched it again. “What the fuck does Ken think he’s doing?”
“You always did say he hated you,” Jacques said quietly. “Then again, this isn’t proof. Could be shitty coincidence.”
“He lives hours away. Why come here? Who is in the car with him?” But something nagged at him, that same feeling that another piece was missing. “But he didn’t set the fire and damage the FL and steal the generator.”
Jacques pursed his lips, gaze lasering in on Barrett. “You sound sure.”
“Dead sure. He probably….fuck. Maybe the person in the car with him. Maybe he hired someone. Someone down on their luck that needed cash.”
“That’s awful down, Barrett.”
He frowned. They’d all been tossed at the ass end of desperate before. He knew the stretch of the dusty remains of rice and old cans of beans, of splitting the cost of a tank of gas between four or five people in the carpool so someone had a running vehicle.
“I know. But things don’t jive. If it was desperation, they would have taken the supplies, not torched them. Broken into Alpha FL, not boarded it up.” Barrett shuffled through the papers on the desk and pulled out Oz’s last report. “The investigator made official documentation of my comments about some of the vandalism beingrage-filled. I still don’t think I’m wrong on that.”
“Ken’s rich, yeah?”
“Filthy. Or, last I knew he was.”
“So you hire someone desperate, or tell them to make it look like desperation or rage. Throw us off the scent a little.”
