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Micah Sutton returned from the aborted meeting with attorney Gustav Winton, and frowned, as he pulled his car into the driveway of his grandparents' home. 'Who is that woman?' he asked himself. 'She's been hanging around the neighborhood, trying to act casual.' A few days earlier, he'd thought that perhaps she might be lost, and had asked her if he might be of some help. The slightly dowdy woman had studied him before murmuring that she was all right, and thanked him for his concern. 'A lovely voice,' he thought, 'definitely not in keeping with her appearance. After I approached her, I thought that'd be the end of it, but . . . she's back. Why does she keep coming back?' He waved to the woman, acknowledging her presence, as he shut the car door and went inside. He stopped himself from automatically calling out that he was home. His grandmother, the woman who had brought him up, would always come into the room, wearing a smile, kiss him on the cheek, and ask how his day had been. 'Now . . . instead of a loving greeting, I've got a creepy woman sitting in a car across the street. 'I took all those embraces and kisses for granted,' he told himself. 'First, Grandfather died, and, within a few weeks, Grandmother followed, after telling me that life wasn't worth living without her husband at her side.' The absence of his grandparents, or anyone to visit with, was wearing on him. It also didn't help that he was away from his coworkers for an indefinite time, tending to his grandparents' estate. He was alone, and feared he might spend the remainder of his life by himself. When he went to the Gustav Winton Law Firm, he'd secretly been hoping all of his questions would be answered. 'Instead,' he told himself, 'I left feeling slightly . . . weirded-out.' He'd made the appointment with such high hopes, and left with nothing more than the name of a law firm the secretary thought might be able to help him. "That's where I've been going!" he wanted to complain, "and I can't get any information out of them. I don't know if they don't know anything, or if they just don't want to tell me whatever it is they do know." He remembered his feeling of intense disappointment, as the secretary squeezed his hand and told him, while she sympathized with his problems, she was on her way to the police, seeking some sort of protection, fearing what her boss might do once he learned she'd resigned. 'What sort of person retaliates against an employee for quitting her job?' Micah asked himself, 'even if her departure was a little over-the-top dramatic? I sort'a feel that entire place must be prone to high drama. And, what could she have meant by claiming that people were suddenly disappearing?' He spent the evening feeling powerless to find answers to any of his questions. Why did the Winton secretary seem so frightened by her boss? Who was the woman who was often parked outside the house, and why wouldn't the Benham Law Firm answer any of his questions? 'They know something,' he told himself, vowing to have stern words with his attorneys, the following morning. He shook his head, as he climbed onto bed, and lay on his back, clutching a pillow to his chest. 'None of this makes any sense,' he thought, frustrated by his lack of information. Even more worrisome, though, was his vision of his future. 'Is this the way you're going to be spending the rest of your life?' he asked himself, 'in bed, alone, with only your hand to keep you company?' He snorted. 'That's good for some things, but I'm needing companionship. 'I want to be held so bad, I ache,' he silently groaned. 'I want to be held by someone . . . strong. I want to feel his warmth, his weight on top of me. I want someone who'll sleep next to me every night.' Micah sighed. 'I want someone who'll listen, and laugh. I want someone I can love, and who will love me.' Micah tossed the pillow aside, closed his eyes, and allowed his subconscious to give his dreams substance. 'He'll have a nice smile,' Micah thought. 'He'll laugh a lot. He'll be soft spoken, and gentle, yet strong, and passionate. He'll be someone who is more than a lover. He'll be a friend . . . the best of friends. 'Am I asking too much?' Micah wondered. 'Am I setting myself up for failure? I can't be!' He closed his eyes. 'You've got to try!' he scolded himself. 'You've already seen what your life will be like if you continue behaving as you always have . . . nothing more than a sandwich and a six-pack of beer each night. You'll sleep alone. You'll live alone. There'll be no conversation or laughter in your life. You've got to try! If you don't, you'll never know what might have been.' Micah's smooth chest was warm beneath his fingers, as he teased his nipples to firmness, and imagined his partner smiling, as he approached the bed. The thought of the man's erection caused Micah's penis to stiffen and gently pulse, as it lay against his pubes. 'Face it,' he chided himself, as his breath quickened. 'You want warmth, strength, love, and all that, but you also want sex! You want to feel the warmth of a mouth surrounding your cock as you shoot. You want to feel his dick throb as it fills your mouth with his thick, hot . . . sperm.' Micah licked his lips and imagined the taste of his lover's semen. He grasped his erection with one hand and gently tugged on his scrotum with the other, thrusting upward, as if forcing himself into his lover's hole. "Oh, yeah," he sighed, as he stroked himself, imagining his cock being enveloped in the intense heat of another man, who moaned in pleasure with each of his slow, steady thrusts. He rolled onto his belly, then onto his knees, as he spread his ass cheeks. His erection throbbed, as the cooler air of the room touched his hole. 'What will it be like to have someone in me?' he wondered. 'What will it be like to feel his breath on my neck as he makes me his? And . . . what will it be like to make him mine?' "Oh, fuuuuck yeah," he groaned, imagining the head of the man's cock stretching the muscular ring of his hole, until, finally, the sphincter snapped tightly around the erection. He hissed, in illusory pain, then sighed, as his imaginary lover leaned forward, wrapped him in an embrace, his chest pressed against Micah's naked back, and kissed his neck. "Ohhhh, yeah," the man groaned, as he began to slowly thrust. "You're gonna do me next," he murmured, his breath warm against Micah's ear and neck. "I'm yours, Micah," the man murmured, as his thrusts became stronger. "You'll know when the time is right. You're stronger than you realize," he said, his breath warm against Micah's skin. 'He's gonna shoot inside me,' Micah thought, as he stroked his own erection, feeling his orgasm build. Any second, it would overtake him. Micah imagined a drop of sweatHe knew the man was close. He felt the man almost pull free, jerk once, then slam back inside. The first time he imagined the man's cock to pulse, Micah erupted onto the bed sheets, calling out in pleasure, as he emptied himself. "Ah, fuuuuck," he sighed, when his orgasm spent itself, to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of lethargy. 'First, though,' he thought, as he rolled to his knees. 'I've always friggin' loved doing this,' he thought, as he leaned forward and licked across the dark bed sheet, slurping up the thick puddles of sperm, savoring its tang as it coated his tongue. "Holy fuck!" he laughed aloud, as he fell to his side and clutched the pillow to his chest. "Now that is what sex should be like." As he surrendered himself to sleep, the imaginary man's words stayed with him. "I'm real, Micah. I'm not a dream. Not a dream. A dream. Dream." * * * Lance Benham was about as frustrated as his normally unflappable personality would allow. "You have to attend this meeting, Franklin," he said, doing his best to not raise his voice, "and, no, I cannot divulge what it is about . . . yet. I'm still doing some final research." The attorney listened, as his employer spoke. "No, it's not about your ex-wife, or the information being provided to the FBI from Rolf, nor that of Bryant Mitchell, the latest of Gustav's escapees to tell us everything, in hopes of facing lighter sentences. If anything, this is more important." Benham sighed, explosively. "I know I'm being cryptic! You must understand that I'm trying to make absolutely sure of all my facts before having this meeting, but you must be there! There can be no substitutes! Without your presence, the meeting means nothing. "Look, Franklin. Do you really think I would call you and tell you something is very important if I didn't friggin' think it was? And, I know, you have business obligations you've been avoiding for too long, but, damn it to hell! I feel as if I'm arguing with a fence post!" Lance Benham listened as his employer, Franklin Pruitt, proposed an alternative. "Do I really have a choice?" he asked, feeling grumpy. "You're paying me. I'll do as you say, but I'm going to warn you, that if you have your sons attend the meeting instead of you, you will be very upset that you were not here, and I will not be loath to tell you that I told you so. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I know when I'm speaking to someone who has his mind made up. Go off to New Orleans, but take my advice, and don't unpack, because, as sure as I'm sitting here, you will be heading back, on the same day I meet with your sons! Now," he laughed. "How's that for cryptic? "Have Riley or Nathan call me whenever they arrive in town. And, I must ask, how did you suddenly find out how to contact them?" He sighed, at his employer's response. "Yeah, yeah, two can play at the cryptic game. But, Franklin, you did not hire me to play games, and I'm not. So there!" he laughed, unable to figure out an appropriate way to end the telephone conversation. "Yeah, I'll live. I do not always get my way. In fact, I have not gotten what I want on occasions too numerous to count. I'll never stop trying, though. So . . . promise me that you'll give one of your sons your telephone number. I'm sure they'll be wanting to reach you. "Yeah, okay. Have a good trip." * * * "This is going nowhere," Elizabeth seethed, as she slammed the door to her apartment and kicked aside some of the trash, which was now spilling out of the kitchen into the living room. "If the professionals can't kill Franklin, what hope do I have?" She threw up her hands and plopped onto one of the kitchen chairs. 'This has gone beyond me wanting him dead, as payback for the ways he's wronged me. It has become a question of survival . . . mine! My money's about gone. I need Franklin's accounts, and the only way I'll get access to those is if he's dead. But how? With my resources, is it even possible? 'Gustav tells me he had a lead on finding the boys, but that it proved wrong, so he's at a standstill, too. I don't believe he's even trying to find those bastards. He probably pocketed the money. Heaven knows, he's in enough hot water as it is, what with the police and FBI after him.' Elizabeth laughed. 'At least no one can tie me to anything he's done. He'd never tell the authorities of all the things he and I have been involved in together. We're good friends, Gustav and me . . . the lousy good for nothing bastard! He took my money!' Elizabeth cackled, as she thought of the plan she'd come up with to locate her sons, after the secretary at the law firm had told her from what city they'd relocated to Atlanta. 'Riley must have gone to school up there, and made friends who persuaded Franklin to dump dear Gustav. Riley and Franklin have been in this together, right from the start! I know it! 'Well, I'm not so dumb,' Elizabeth smugly smiled, and rubbed her hands together. 'Knowing what city to start my search was crucial to my plan.' It had been a chore, though, to run an advertisement in every one of the area's college newspapers, claiming that she was desperately seeking the whereabouts of Riley Pruitt. Most people who called didn't have much information, other than to tell her that they knew Riley, and hoped he was okay. She learned he graduated from college and had been, off-and-on, living with a guy named Corey Hatfield. Another person told her that Corey was going to be a teacher and had moved to a small town named River . . . something. The person couldn't remember anything more, but wished her luck in finding her son. 'You're giving me the ammunition to kill the SOB,' Elizabeth had wanted to shout. 'Without your information, he might have been able to live out his life in peace. Now . . . no way.' Another person had completed the name of the town, but knew little else, other than it was a small place. 'Sounds like a dump, to me,' Elizabeth grumbled, ignoring the room in which she sat. 'Riverton!' she snorted. 'Dump!' It had taken some doing, but she'd contacted each of the licensing boards in states having towns named Riverton, and finally found one with a newly licensed school teacher named Corey Hatfield. "Ah ha!" she exclaimed, when she had the last piece of the puzzle. 'I'll bet Riley's with you, Mister Hatfield. And, if Riley's there, I'd be willing to bet Nathan will be as well! 'So . . . I just have one thing to tend to, then I'm off to Riverton. Now, if these guys Bryant Mitchell told me Gustav hired to kill me will just give up following me, things would be looking up.' As always, whenever she thought of the men whose job it was to torment her, she became jumpy. "What are they waiting for?" she asked herself, flinching as a car door slammed outside her apartment. 'Evidence of their presence shows up at the strangest places. They're watching me, I know it, but why? If they were going to kill me, as Bryant Mitchell claimed, they'd have done it.' She snorted her derision. 'They're probably cowards, afraid to hurt a poor old woman. That's it! Cowards. Nothing like me.' * * * Lucas watched as Bailey took a deep breath, steeling himself to face Riley and Nathan's displeasure. 'But, it's good news he's delivering!' Lucas told himself. 'Surely, they'll realize he took every precaution he could think of to ensure their, and his, safety.' Bailey stood, and began to pace. "I've got something to talk about," he began, focusing on Riley and his brother. "I thought it best that everyone was present, so no one'll have to relay anything to someone else." "He's going to tell us about how he's come up with a new idea to manage our futures," Riley began, then sobered, when Bailey failed to respond. "Not now, Riley. Please." Riley nodded. "It's about Dad, isn't it?" Nathan began, as he scooted forward on the sofa. "You've found out something." Jonah rested a hand on Nathan's shoulder, silently asking that he not jump to conclusions. "It's bad news, isn't it?" Nathan asked, his voice breaking. "No!" Bailey said, holding out a hand, as if he could stop that thought. "No!" he repeated, his voice louder than he expected. He cleared his throat. "No . . . it's good news. Your father's fine." "Bailey," Riley began, in a low voice, drawing out the word. "You can crucify me in a few minutes, but hear me out first, okay?" Riley sat back, grumpily crossing his arms, only relaxing slightly when Owen rested an arm over his shoulders. "Give the guy a chance, Riley. Can't you see, this is hard on him?" "So . . . okay," Bailey began, flicking a grateful glance in Owen's direction. "I've grown tired of listening to you guys and your increasingly absurd speculations about your father's welfare. I conned Lucas into emailing his mother, and asking her to have lunch, or something, with my father, who knows your father." "Are you following that?" Lucas asked, but quieted, as Riley abruptly motioned for silence. "The two of you have had no way to find out anything!" Bailey exclaimed. "I had to do something! So, I did . . . both for you guys, and for myself. I'm suffering, too, you know! Not like you are, but this whole thing is rough on me, just as it is on the guys," he continued, gesturing to the other men in the room. "Anyhow, Lucas' mother met with my father, over lunch, face to face, and learned that your father is healthy as a horse, and has been creating as many nasty scenarios concerning you guys, as you have regarding him." "So, Mother . . . she's done nothing? We've been gone all this time, and she's done nothing? Is she still on the loose?" Nathan asked. Bailey heaved a deep breath. "Yes, she's still on the loose, and yes, she's done something. She tried. That's the operative word, men . . . tried," he said, holding up a reassuring hand. "What has she . . . tried?" Riley asked, in a don't-fool-with-me voice. "There have been two attempts on your father's life." Nathan flopped back onto the seat, sinking into the cushions, as he covered his face. "Ah geez," he groaned. "Nathan! Listen to what I said!" Bailey shouted. "The man is okay, so both attempts obviously failed! I don't know the details, but my father reports, through Lucas' mother, that your father is doing well, except for missing you guys, of course. "All of his outside communications are being filtered through the FBI, so even my father hasn't spoken to him directly. He has, however, relayed the information that you both are doing well, but are scared out of your wits, about his wellbeing. The FBI folks have provided my father with a number which you can call. They will verify who you are, then forward your call on to him. They'll be listening, though, so don't mention where you're hiding the family jewels, or anything, okay?" "That was supposed to be a joke," Owen mumbled, "and, before anyone jumps on Bailey, I, for one, am glad that he did something! Hell, I've been worrying about your Dad, and I've never even met him! I can't begin to think what you guys have been going through. So don't give Bailey those nasty looks. He loves you! He doesn't want to see either of you in pain. He had the means to ease your fears, so thank the man!" "Remember, Riley . . . Nathan," Sam said, speaking for the first time, and turning to each man, in turn. "Bailey would not do anything to knowingly endanger either of you. Even if he didn't feel about you both the way he does, he wouldn't do anything to hurt you, because that's the way he is, and because he will be sharing whatever danger you both face. So, ease up, okay?" "Did everyone know about this but Nathan and me?" Riley asked, without meeting anyone's eyes. "No!" Bailey responded. "None of the guys knew anything about what I was doing, except Lucas." Nathan was first to acknowledge Bailey's efforts. "Thank you, for what you've done," he said, in his soft voice, as he rubbed his forehead, trying to assimilate what he'd just learned. "Sam's right." He glanced toward Owen. "Owen's right, too, and I'm sure Lucas is, as well, and you, too, Corey, and I can't forget Jonah!" he laughed, looking to each of the men, as he mentioned their name. "Even if some of you didn't do anything, I figured I'd include everyone, just so no one would feel left out." "I'm touched," Corey dryly murmured. Nathan continued, responding to Corey's comment with a small smile. "Personally, I'm glad we, at least, know Dad's okay, and that he knows we're okay. He still doesn't know where we are, though, does he?" Nathan asked, glancing to Bailey. "No, no one does, though I imagine Lucas' mother has probably figured it out. She's aware of the need for discretion, though, so I expect she's not even told Lucas' father that she's been acting on my, Lucas' . . . and your behalf." "What would you have done if you'd received bad news?" Riley asked, glancing up at Bailey from beneath half-lidded eyes. "It would have been enormously more difficult," Bailey responded, "but I would have given you the news. You have a right to know, no matter if the news was good . . . or bad. So . . . are you pissed for all eternity?" he asked. Riley heaved a sigh. "No, I was for about fifteen seconds. Then I figured, like our smart friend, here," he said, nodding to Owen, "that you were acting in Nathan's and my best interest. Thank you." He looked over his shoulder, to Lucas. "Thank you, too, Lucas, and your mother." "So, there have been two attempts on Dad's life? What happened? Do you know?" Nathan asked. * * * "DAD!" Nathan shouted into the telephone, the moment his father answered. "It's me, Nathan, your long-lost son, who has been roaming the wilds with Riley, scared out of his wits, worrying if you're okay!" His voice broke. "Dad, I've missed you so much! You're okay, f'real? You're not keeping anything secret, are you?" Riley snatched the phone from his brother. "Dad," he began, before his voice cracked, too. "Can we come home? Is it safe? Have you heard anything more about her?" Franklin Pruitt took a steadying breath. 'They're okay,' he told himself. 'My boys are okay!' He listened to Riley, who'd managed to get his voice under control. "Yes, everything seems to be returning to something resembling normalcy, though I still have two of my regular body guards, plus a new one, to replace the one who was injured in the shooting." He held the phone away from his ear at his oldest son's exclamation of, "WHAT?! What shooting? Someone said something about attempts, or something, but SHOOTING?! Someone was hurt? Is he okay?" "Easy, boy," Franklin responded, in a soothing voice, glancing toward the stone-faced guard. "There have been two attempts on my life." He paused, as Riley relayed the information to his younger brother. "But, I'm still alive and kicking. Except for a pretty nasty bruise on my chest, I'm fine. Oh . . . um . . ." he temporized. "About the bruise. Well," he laughed, uneasily. "The chauffeur shot me in the chest. It wasn't my real chauffeur, of course, but someone who'd taken his place, after beating him up real bad; the real chauffeur, I mean. They dumped him in a ditch, alongside the road. "Anyhow, I wasn't hurt too bad, though, because I was wearing one of those bullet proof vests!" he quickly added. "I have the mother of all bruises as a souvenir. They've taken pictures!" he said, sounding like a proud young boy who was anxious to show everyone his pet bug. "You can see 'em if you want." He hesitated, as Riley relayed the information to his brother, along with comments about his father's stupidity at allowing himself to be a target. "The whole thing was sort'a intense," Franklin continued. "The shot flung me against the wall of the porch. Sort'a knocked the air out of me, when I hit, but the bullets kept coming. I was having a pretty difficult time of it, sort'a like ol' Abner . . . remember him . . . the one armed paper hanger?" Franklin sobered at his son's exasperated sigh. "Okay, no more jokes. My guards, though; they were wonderful. I did just as I'd been instructed, or as close to it as I could, given the bullets, and noise n'all. That's when one of the guards even took a bullet intended for me. He's going to be okay, thank the powers that be. He's probably glad to be out of this prison of a house," he added, after a contemplative pause, and glance at the ever present guard. "And, when Elsie shot the man who jumped through one of the big windows in the foyer . . . that really helped, 'cause the guards were still outside, tending to things." Franklin paused, holding the phone away from his ear. "Yeah, no-nonsense Elsie! I was too preoccupied, beating Rolf's face to a pulp, to realize one of the killers was in the house. Elsie was on top of things, though. She shot him before he could even aim at me. What a mess! The guy slammed backward and sort'a got caught on the broken window glass, as he died, and bled all over my floor. Well, I guess the blood didn't matter; the place was a shambles, anyhow. A little more blood wouldn't matter, as long as it wasn't mine, Elsie's, or the guards, that is. "Yeah, well," Franklin laughed, after giving Riley a few moments to relay the information to Nathan, who provided a few colorful comments. "Tell your brother to watch his language. Don't say anything negative about the bodyguards. The men were faultless. They did an exemplary job, and I wouldn't be alive today, but for their efforts, and," Franklin chuckled, "those of Elsie, of course. Y'know, the staff have taken to calling her Rambo. I thought I'd try it, but it just didn't seem right, calling one's maid, Rambo. She'd probably have punched me out as she walked past to put new towels in the office bathroom, or something. "Well, about Rolf," Franklin sighed . . . "that's another story. The reason I was punching him was because he tried to kill me, too. Nearly everyone wanted in on the act, I guess. At least, he had a gun pointed at me, so I guess he wanted to kill me, but Elsie saved the day, again . . . this time unwittingly. When she shot the guy who jumped through the window, Rolf was surprised and turned away, wondering who was behind him. When he turned, I kicked him in the back of the legs. I was laying on the floor, y'see. Well, anyhow, when I kicked him, he went down, and I pounced, and did my best to pummel him to death. I would have, too, but, by then, the shooting, outside the house, had stopped, and the guards were back inside. They stopped me from killing the bastard," he added in an aggrieved tone. "The foyer was a shambles! You should have seen it! Three of the windows were smashed, and one of those enormous mirrors. There were bullet holes in the front doors, and geez, but the floor was a mess, what with all the broken glass, and the blood n'all. "Everyone figures that your mother master-mined the entire thing, but I doubt it. I believe ol' Gustav Winton, the lousy fucker, had a hand in it; oh and Rolf, of course, and they let Elizabeth feel like she was contributing. If the FBI knows exactly what was going on, they haven't seen fit to tell me. "Ol' Elizabeth, the poor . . . clueless . . . dear, may have inadvertently saved my life, though, because . . . you remember her flair for the dramatic? Well, before all the hoopla started, I received a fax, a real amateurish piece of work it was, too, telling me that 'today was the day I was going to die.' That sent everyone into ultra-protect mode, which, along with the bullet proof vest, prob'ly saved my life." Franklin paused. "What do you mean, I'm not making sense? I'm telling you what happened!" Franklin looked up as one of the guards made a noise to get his attention, while Riley relayed to his brother what had been said. "Take it from the top, sir. Maybe it'll make more sense that way. Even I'm having trouble following the story, and I was there." "Oh, okay." Franklin's brows lowered. "Are you supposed to be listening to everything I say?" The guard shrugged. "It's difficult not to, since your sons most likely could hear you even if you weren't using a telephone." He touched his earbud communicator. "I was asked, a minute ago, what all the yelling was about." "Oh," Franklin grinned, sheepishly. "Sorry. Sort'a excited, I guess." "Understandable, sir. Being shot at has that effect on some people." When Riley returned to the line, and told his father he had sat down and was prepared for more, Franklin laughed. "The guard just told me I should include all the boring bits, in addition to the action parts. And, that I should tell things in order," he added. "Oh, by the way, I had to dismiss Rolf, y'know, for trying to kill me n'all, and I've now got a new Personal Secretary. His name is Micah . . . Micah Sutton. He hasn't started work, yet, because of his grandparents' dying, n'all, but . . ." Franklin paused. "No, of course their deaths didn't have anything to do with the stuff happening here at the house. Their passing was entirely natural. Whenever Micah finishes tending to things regarding his grandparents' estate, he will be starting work in his new capacity. He came to us by way of our acquisition of one of the other companies in town. He's got a degree in business, and I feel really lucky to have him. Rolf was good, but held some nasty surprises. I trust Micah will not do the same. He seems pretty laid back. You'll like him. "Oh, yeah . . . from the top. Well, remember, you asked for it." * * * "Do you miss not having Nathan with us?" Corey asked his lover, as they lay side-by-side. Earlier, they had heard Sam's and Lucas' voices teasing Owen about something, but now, just like the town outside their window, the guys were quiet. Jonah smiled, imagining his brother happily sleeping in a tangle of legs and arms. Riley, Nathan, and Bailey had spoken with Franklin Pruitt a few days earlier, and were scheduled to meet their bodyguards before boarding a plane, and heading back to Atlanta. There had been a few tense moments as Riley and Bailey engaged in a test of wills. Riley was reluctant to have someone following him around, "like a shadow." Bailey agreed, but insisted that until, "that crazy woman is apprehended," they needed protection. "Your father's learned to live with his guards; the three of us can do the same. It's not forever guys, but, if your mother finds us, having a guard nearby will greatly increase our chances of surviving." When Franklin Pruitt threw his support behind Bailey, the battle was won. "Riley," the elder Pruitt warned, his oldest son. "If you decide you cannot tolerate having someone guard you, then you can stay where you are. I would like to have you nearby, especially since the authorities seem to think the threat Elizabeth poses has diminished. They don't know Elizabeth. That woman will never give up. I do think, though, that she is most likely running out of money, and will therefore try to take out her frustrations on an easier target, most likely in a more amateurish fashion. Whom that might be, I don't know." Jonah snuggled closer. "No, I don't miss Nathan. He's super-sexy, but he needs to be around lots of people. That's how he grew up. Riverton isn't exciting enough for him, just like it isn't the right place for Riley or Bailey to live. Besides, you n'I helped him get over being so shy. Now that he's not afraid of being with someone, he needs to be away from Riverton. With the guys gone, I can spend some uninterrupted time with the man I love . . . you. So . . . as I see it, things can't get any better." After a few moments of silence, Corey spoke. "I'm hoping things'll work out for the guys, with their mother n'all, I mean. I'm not sure I'd want to go back to Atlanta, with that woman still on the loose. Y'know, I'm just glad that she's not here, in Riverton. That's all we need." * * * "So . . ." Nathan said, as he, Riley, and Bailey stood at a designated location in the Denver airport. "I'm getting tired of all this cops and robbers secrecy. That's why we're in Denver, right . . . 'cause we want to throw off anyone who might be following us?" "No," Bailey corrected. "We're here because that's where Father told us we needed to meet our new bodyguards. They'll stick close, until everything . . . resolves itself." "And, if I'm not mistaken," Riley said, in an under voice, "here they are." "Why'd your father have to choose cute ones?" Nathan asked, glancing from the guards to Bailey. "Shhhh." Bailey smiled, and greeted the three men, who identified themselves by using information only Bailey's father would have been able to provide. "I believe we've got a flight to Atlanta to catch," Scott Chen, the man whose job it was to guard Riley, and the apparent leader of the three, said, after introductions had been made. The two remaining guards took their place, and briefed the three younger men. A few minutes later, they were boarding the airplane which would take them back to Atlanta. 'Okay,' Nathan thought. 'Why'd I get assigned the cute, dark-haired, Italian one? With a name like Mario, I'd half expect him to be one of the bad guys. But, damn, he's good looking. Hmm, I wonder what Corey and Jonah are doing right now?' 'Where did Dad find these guys?' Bailey asked himself. 'They all look like they just stepped out of a military recruiting poster. If their job is to be inconspicuous, they've failed.' His eyes searched the man, Ernst Hirsch, he had already come to think of as his guard, and couldn't detect any evidence of weapons. 'I wonder if they're armed. I thought no one, other than one of those sky marshall folks, was able to carry weapons onto an airplane. From the looks of these guys, though, they don't need a gun. They could probably do plenty of damage with their bare hands. I wonder what Riley's thinking of all this.' Riley watched Scott Chen, the man who'd been assigned to guard him, and wondered if the man knew why he, his brother, and Bailey were being guarded. 'Do they think we're nothing more than some spoiled rich boys whose job it is for them to keep us out of trouble?' He grinned, as he watched the fabric of Chen's slacks stretch across the man's tight buttocks. 'Damn! I wonder if they're going to be in the same room with Bailey and me whenever we have sex? Looking at Mister Chen's butt has sure got me worked up. Well . . . that, and the idea of being naked and fucking around in front of them.' Riley smiled. 'Maybe this guard-thing isn't such a bad idea after all. I've always enjoyed an audience, and after hanging around with Owen, Lucas, Sam, Corey, and Jonah for the last couple months, I've sort'a grown accustomed to it.' Chen studied Riley Pruitt, as they boarded the airplane. 'These guys don't carry themselves like the society prima donnas I was half-expecting. I wonder what their story is? All we know is they are prime targets for a deranged mother who is hell bent on killing them. Now that we've met, it looks like all three of the young men are gay. We were led to believe the youngest one wasn't.' Chen grinned, wondering how Ernst Hirsch, Mister Super Macho, was going to handle being nearby when the three men had sex. 'It'll do him good. Me . . .' Scott Chen, thought, 'watching all that naked guy-flesh will probably make me horny, recalling some of the good times I've had. These men are off limits, though. Besides, they're all a little young for me. Now . . . if they were ten years older . . . and I wasn't on duty . . . ,' He let the thought fade, as everyone boarded the airplane and took their prearranged seats, amid the uneasy glances of some of the other passengers. "No, we're not the bad guys!" Bailey wanted to shout, as he did his best to convey innocence to the curious passengers. When the woman he sat next to got up and spoke to one of the flight attendants, asking for another seat, he resigned himself to a long flight. 'So . . . okay' . . . Bailey's guard, Ernst Hirsch, told himself, as he scanned the people around him and watched the nervous woman, with ill concealed amusement. He wanted to shout, "boo," as she passed, just to watch her jump, and hear her squeal; but, after a warning look from Scott Chen, he reconsidered. 'I was asked beforehand if I'd have any problems guarding a gay man. None of 'em act gay, at least not that I can tell. Geez, I wonder if they're planning on having sex with us in the room! Maybe we'll be lucky and their mother will be apprehended before they get horny. Naw . . . not gonna happen. If they're like I was at that age . . . I was horny all the time. I've never actually seen two men have sex, though. I wonder what it's like? I sort'a expected sissy-acting guys. These guys aren't that.' Mario Lombardi, the man assigned to guard Nathan Pruitt, couldn't help but grin, as he watched his coworker, Ernst Hirsch, the square chinned, uber macho blond German, nervously study the men they'd been hired to protect. 'He's afraid of what he's going to be exposed to if the guys have sex, or if he has to see them naked, with erections, or something,' Mario mused, doing his best to conceal his grin from his colleague. 'Ernst's a good man, though. He may be uncomfortable with what he's exposed to, but he's professional enough to handle whatever discomfort he's feeling, and do his job. 'Me . . .' Mario, thought. 'I think it'll be sort'a hot, if we see 'em naked n'all. It won't make me wish I could join 'em; it'll only confirm what I already know . . . that I'm a dyed-in-the-wool voyeur.' He grinned at Ernst Hirsch's look of uncertainty, and made a calm down gesture, then settled in for the long plane ride to Atlanta, which is where the danger would increase. * * * "Hey, Scott," Riley called, attracting the attention of the man who'd been assigned to guard him. "This is just like we're all roomies . . . all six of us. Fun, huh? I imagine you're enjoying it as much as Nathan, Bailey, and me. "I'm thinking that it might have been better to stay . . . where we were," Nathan mumbled, as he pushed himself out of one of the apartment's armchairs, and began to pace, staying away from the windows, as ordered. "I'm hating this," he mumbled, after completing one circuit of the room. "I am really hating being locked up like this." He rounded on the guards. "Does Dad know about us being held, like this?" "Yes," Mario Lombardi, Nathan's bodyguard, responded. "He wants to take no chances whatsoever with your welfare. You'll be going to meet with his attorneys in a couple days, so just relax. Pretend you're on vacation . . . or something." His eyes flicked to Ernst, who had quietly complained that . . . something . . . is what the guys did a lot of, accompanied by a lot of groaning, and laughing. "I don't have to be watching them to know what they're doing," the guard complained. "I don't mind them doing it; I just wish they'd be a little more quiet about it, and," he added, "Maybe they could also do it a little less often!" "You know, of course, that we're gay," Riley said, in an offhand manner. "NO! Really?" Scott Chen laughed. "I would never have guessed." "Does us being gay bother you?" "No." "Are you afraid we might proposition you, or steal you away in the night to have our way with you?" "I'd like to see you try." "Riley," Bailey complained, from across the room. "They're the ones with the guns." "Not to put too fine a point on it, Mister Wilkins, but we could subdue all of you with our eyes closed, and one hand tied behind our back . . . without a weapon." "Hmm. If you're guarding us, shouldn't you be in the bedroom when we're having sex?" Riley asked. "What?" Bailey squawked. "Do you want us to be? I assure you, we're nearby. If it'll make you feel better, we hear everything you say, or do. Sort'a brings back a few memories," Chen grinned, ignoring his fellow guards' raised brows. "So . . . you've . . . ?" Bailey asked, leaving off the specifics. Scott Chen solemnly nodded. "Did you enjoy it?" Bailey asked. "If I hadn't I would not have repeated it," Chen finished. "And, no," he added, looking from Bailey, to Riley, then to his fellow guards. "No, I'm not planning on repeating anything from my past, so you can all relax, okay?" He focused on Bailey. "I just wanted you guys to know that you're not the only ones to have enjoyed man-to-man play. I enjoyed it . . . quite a few times, in fact," he concluded, grinning at Ernst's shocked expression. "Me, too," Mario added, chuckling, when Ernst, Bailey's guard, edged away. "I enjoy watching more, though," Mario added. "I'll make sure to close my door," Nathan grumbled, glancing toward his guard. Mario laughed. "No, you won't! You, more than these two, want an audience." "So, you've got me all figured out, have you?" Nathan groused, unable to hide his grin. "Um . . . have you enjoyed watching?" Mario grinned. "Yep. You're a hottie." Ernst took another step back. "What?" "Ernst, cool it! I enjoy watching. Doesn't matter if it's guys, girls . . . dogs. I get off on watching." "Um . . . have you gotten off watching me?" Nathan asked, suddenly finding his captivity to be not quite so bothersome. "You could stand at the bedside and watch," he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I think I'll stay where I have been," Mario grinned, "and, no, I haven't . . . shot . . . while watching you. I'm on duty, y'see." "You've waited to . . . shoot . . . until you're off duty, then." Mario shrugged, and grinned. "Maybe I should stand in front of the window, so the folks across the street can watch, too." "Um, no. There's a difference between me and," he gestured toward the lighted windows of the nearby buildings. "Between me and whomever." "You're afraid someone out there might want to kill us?" The guard shrugged. "Would someone really shoot at us from another building?" "Yes." "Would you shoot back?" "Yes." "Somehow, I'm not feeling very frisky, at the moment," Riley said. "Neither am I," both Scott Chen and Mario Lombardi said, in chorus. When the other guard remained silent, everyone turned. "Me, either," Ernst Hirsch hastened to add, holding out a hand in a stay-away gesture. "I'm never horny. I'm German." "I wonder what makes little Germans?" Riley mused, ignoring Ernst's scowl. "One arm behind your back?" Bailey asked. "We'd be that easy to subdue?" "With my eyes closed," Mario smiled. "Oh. Well, then. We'll be good." "It's not you being good we're worried about, sir. It's . . . other people."
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