Hide Out Read Free

figured the next seven months until the trial would be the worst. Now, however, he was starting to think this might not be so bad.
    He snuck another peek of the cop’s severe profile and hid a grin. Not bad at all. 10
    Hide Out
    After a few minutes, his amusement faded and boredom crept back in.
    “Doesn’t anyone believe in paint around here?” he muttered. They’d just passed yet another barn that had been battered by years and bad weather, leaving the gray boards exposed except for the odd patch of peeling red paint.
    The cop snorted but otherwise didn’t respond.
    Trevor stole a glance at him, hating the way his pulse accelerated at the hard lines of the cop’s face. Everything was hard about the guy—mouth, body, even the abrupt angles of his short haircut. The only softness was the silky gray of his eyes, bordered by thick, dark sweeps of lashes. Ripping his gaze away, he focused on yet another fucking cornfield.
    “We’re not going to be living on a fucking farm, are we?” He knew he sounded sulky but Trevor didn’t care.
    Shaking his head, the cop slowed down, pointing out the windshield. “We’re living here.”
    Leaning forward, Trevor followed the path of his finger to the painted sign welcoming them to…
    “Honeysuckle?” There was no way. “I’m going to be living in a town called Honeyfucking-suckle?”
    The cop grinned. “ We’re going to be living in Honey-fucking-suckle.”
    Falling back against the seat, Trevor closed his eyes. “Fuck me,” he sighed. I wish. Pete clamped down on the thought. He had to stay focused, stay professional, or there was no way he was getting through the next seven months.
    “C’mon, man,” Trevor groaned. “Think of all the great cities out there—Portland, Denver, Austin, Chicago—fuck, I’d even pick fucking Montreal over this small-town bullshit.”
    “That’s the point,” Pete told him mildly, glancing at the map displayed above his radio. He’d turned the navigation system’s voice commands off hours ago. He couldn’t stand the automated chick bitching at him when he had to detour off the directed route to find food or a rest stop.
    “What’s the point? You want me to be miserable?”
    Pete saw Second Street up ahead and slowed to make a left turn. “You prefer cities. Think your father doesn’t know that?” He waited for what appeared to be the only other moving vehicle in town to slowly pass them, heading in the opposite direction.
    “Making you miserable is just a bonus.”
    Trevor grunted. “What’s my name?” he asked out of the blue.
    “You forget?” Pete turned again onto Mason Street.
    “No dumbass, my undercover name.” Trevor sighed with exaggerated patience. “My graffiti-painting, one-half-of-a-token-gay-couple-in-Honey-fucking-suckle name.”
    11
    Katie Allen
    “Right. How about your middle name?” Pete suggested.
    Shaking his head, Trevor told him, “Wouldn’t work—it’s Harold.”
    “Oh.”
    “Exactly.”
    “What name would you like?” Pete asked. “I don’t care, as long as it’s not too unusual.”
    “Patrick?” Trevor suggested with an innocent look.
    “No, we’re not going to be Pete and Pat.”
    “Fine,” Trevor said and then frowned. “Why do you get to keep your name?”
    “I’m not the one testifying,” Pete said. “The official story is I’m taking an unpaid leave of absence. The lieutenant and your detectives are the only ones who know I’m with you. They’re trying to minimize the number of people who know where you are or who you’re with.”
    “They’re not my detectives,” Trevor growled. “Things were going just fine until they walked in.”
    “Except for always having to look over your shoulder, afraid someone’s trying to kill you,” Pete said mildly. “So, name?”
    “Randy Lance?” Trevor suggested with a wicked curl of his lips. “Dick Long?”
    “If you want to get sued by a porn star for trademark infringement, go right ahead.” The minute the words