Desperate Lovers by Adam Carpenter (good beach reads TXT) 📕

Edgar did his best to mask his footsteps as he mounted the staircase, but as it was an old house, this was nearly impossible. Edgar was startled by a voice, the voice of Parker St. John, when it called out to him.

“I’m in the bedroom,” he called. “You actually came.”

Shit, thought Edgar, he’s expecting someone.

Realizing that he had to work quickly in order to avoid detection, Edgar burst in the room and stopped in his tracks, startled by what he saw.

Stretched out on the bed, totally naked—as beautiful naked as Edgar had imagined—was Parker St. John with a large erection.

“Ooh, kinky,” he said, smiling an adorably dimpled smile. “I never imagined you were into that sort of thing.”

Realizing that Parker hadn’t seen through his disguise, Edgar quickly approached the bed and began to truss Parker like a prize winning hog, tying his arms and his legs to the bedposts. God, how Edgar wanted to taste that beautiful cock, to run his fingers through the beautiful hair on the man’s chest and finger his cute ass, but he stayed his hand. He hoped that Parker wouldn’t notice the erection growing in his sweat pants.

Get a grip, he told himself. You’re married to Jack. But Edgar forgave himself for his thoughts. After all, he was forty-three, not dead; and married, but not blind.

“That’s a little tight, babe,” said Parker, blissfully unaware that he was not involved in sex play.

His smile faded, however, when Edgar pulled the pistol from his pocket and aimed it at him.

“What the hell?” he asked, struggling against the ropes. “Who are you?”

“Where is old man Saunders?” demanded Edgar.

He had lowered his voice an octave and affected a pseudo southern accent. Years of drama study had finally paid off.

“They’ll kill me if I tell you,” whimpered Parker.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” countered Edgar, placing the barrel of the gun against Parker’s muscular torso.

“Okay, okay!” wailed Parker, his eyes clamped shut. “Don’t shoot me. He’s in San Francisco…at his Russian Hill mansion.”

“What’s the address?” pressed Edgar.

“Lombard Street,” replied Parker. “It’s just above the crooked part of the street—across from the park!”

Without another word, Edgar retrieved a pair of underwear from the floor—Parker’s he assumed. It was an assumption that was almost titillating—but he stuffed them into Parker’s mouth to serve as a gag. No need for Parker to start yelling for help before he had a chance to slip back to his own house, undetected. Well aware that Parker was expecting other company, Edgar let himself out the back door and avoided the sidewalk, instead following a route hidden by trees and bushes.

Safely back inside his own house, Edgar took off his sweat suit and stashed it in its original box in the basement, along with the ski mask.

He was careful to place the box under larger, heavier boxes. He would burn the contents, later, if need be. As he climbed the stairs to the main floor, Edgar wondered what his next move should be. He could call Stokes, his informant in San Francisco, to have him stake out the house, but that would take too long. By the time Stokes was able to get any information, Converse might tip off George Saunders, allowing him to disappear one more time. The only course of action that seemed to make sense to Edgar was to go to San Francisco, right away.

Back at home, Edgar found Jack out. a note on the refrigerator simply said that he had gone for a walk. Funny, he hadn’t passed his lover on the street. Edgar threw the note away and went to change clothes. Half an hour later, Jack returned, obviously distressed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Edgar.

“I just ran into Parker,” said Jack, lowering himself into a chair.

“Somebody broke into his house and held him at gun point.”

“Good lord,” replied Edgar, doing his best to look shocked. “Is he alright?”

“As well as can be expected,” said Jack. “What’s happening to our neighborhood?”

Edgar sat down on the sofa, his face grave.

“Do you want to go to San Francisco?” he asked, suddenly.

“What?” asked Jack, “When?”

“First thing tomorrow,” replied Edgar, his face serious.

“Edgar,” replied Jack, rubbing his hands on his pants, “I have the

yoga studio to think of and, besides, what about the dog?”

“We’ll come back day after tomorrow,” said Edgar. “He’ll be fine.”

Jack regarded his partner, confused by his sudden urge to drive to San Francisco.

“Eddy,” he pressed, “what’s going on?”

“I think I found George Saunders,” he replied, somberly. “I figured we could spend a casual day in the city and stop by the address I found before driving home.”

Jack was silent for a moment. He knew there was no need to argue with Edgar. Once he made his mind up there was no talking him out of it.

Slowly, Jack nodded his head and arose from his seat. “I’ll go call someone to run the studio for me tomorrow.”

The next morning, Edgar arose from bed and stumbled, naked, into the bathroom. Jack was just emerging from the shower when he entered.

“Good morning, bright eyes,” said Jack, grinning.

Edgar furrowed his brow and looked at the haggard reflection in the mirror above the sink.

“What time did you get up?” he grumbled.

Jack ignored his partner’s tone. He had lived with Edgar

Newcastle for enough years to know that Edgar was always a bit of a grouch in the morning—at least before his first cup of coffee. Any grouchiness, Jack knew, was not intended for anyone personally.

“I got up at six and did yoga,” Jack said. “And I made coffee.

There’s a full pot waiting for you in the kitchen.”

Jack’s response and the mention of coffee calmed Edgar a bit. Be nice to Jack, you old grouch, he reminded himself. He turned and grabbed Jack’s arm as he was leaving the bathroom and pulled him back into the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, a playful look in his tired eyes.

“I’m going to get dressed,” replied Jack, feigning disinterest. “I thought you’d want to get an early start.”

“Not this early” said Edgar, pulling Jack into his arms. He lavished kisses on Jack’s neck, and the erection that he had awakened with pressed against Jack’s naked