Glen gasped, and Cash nodded miserably.
“The first time he did that, it was to someone we didn’t know—but we didn’t get a lot of time to talk, to know each other. I told Brielle that evening, when we were supposed to be working the garden, that I was taking off. She said she’d come with me, but when I got to Agujero en la Roca, she wasn’t there.”
“Why didn’t you stay at Hole in the Rock?” Glen asked curiously.
“Tranquilo—he had guards. Big strapping guys. Mercenaries, I think, because some of them were American and some had other accents. Anyway, there were two of them on my heels. The lady in the bakery hid me, but as soon as they turned back toward the center, I caught a ride with someone coming down here for supplies. I’ve been trying to get enough money together to hire some muscle so we can go and get her out.”
He let out a sigh and leaned his head against the bed. “It’s getting harder. Most everyone is wise to me now.”
Glen gave him a tired smile. “Yeah, well, you’re easy to spot. Pretty kid like you killing it at the table like that. You’re lucky I showed up—those guys had weapons.”
Cash waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Well, that depends. What’re you packing, soldier?”
Glen tried to be unimpressed. Cash was ten years younger than he was, and for all his tough talk and obvious street smarts, there was something… vulnerable about him. Clive had been trying so hard to help this kid; he’d literally called Glen up out of the blue when he’d heard Glen was in the search-and-rescue business. Glen had tried to explain that “search and rescue” usually meant people lost in the wild or unable to help themselves due to natural disasters, but Clive had been adamant. He needed a search done on this kid who literally had the world at his feet.
Glen had scoffed at first—for all he owned the band’s album and listened to it whenever Damien wouldn’t catch him and had seen the concert special. Cash was the lead singer, the one with the charisma. The other guys seemed to know this was their one shot at fame, but Cash Harper had a career of songwriting ahead of him.
Why would that guy need Glen’s help?
But Glen could see it now. Cash didn’t expect help from anybody—and that made him an easy target for the world at large.
“I’m packing enough resources to get us back to Tranquilo Paz and get your friend back,” Glen said grimly.
Cash’s eyes showed a flash of hope that quickly dimmed. “I know Clive isn’t paying you for that,” he said, his voice stony.
“Kid, sometimes money isn’t the bottom line. You’ve got to know that. I’ll help you get your friend back—I promise.”
Cash leaned forward until he was on his hands and knees, face close to Glen’s in the sultry quiet. “You can’t make a promise like that and not keep it,” he whispered.
Glen licked his lips, suddenly aware that he was in real peril. “I don’t make promises often,” he said. “That promise I’ll keep.”
Cash let out a breath and leaned a little bit closer.
The Real Bottom Line
Present
CASH had never seen anything or anybody who looked better than Glen Echo.
Sure, he looked more tired—and thinner—than the last time Cash had seen him, but he was mobile and not in a hospital bed, and, oh God, not looking at Cash like Cash had broken his heart.
Of course the bastard had always been handsome.
He had dark blond hair and his beard grew out auburn, but that was hard to tell with scruff. His piercing blue eyes were surrounded by black lashes and dark eyebrows, making them even more surprising, especially when he was being an asshole. And his full mouth was so often twisted into sarcastic lines a person could forget how sinful it was.
Cash hadn’t forgotten.
He pulled himself together, wiping his face on Glen’s hoodie before raising his face to Glen’s and smiling slightly. “I’m so glad to see you,” he whispered.
Glen swallowed, and Cash’s heart stuttered in his chest as Glen’s expression closed off.
“I’m glad to see you too, kid. Me and Clive were really worried.” Glen took a step back and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He opened the door and held it for Cash, then followed, kicking his boots off in the foyer and leaving his flight bag on a peg that looked designed for that exact purpose.
“Spence?” he called. “Spence! You here!”
“Napping, asshole!” came the groggy reply, and Glen’s mouth relaxed enough to smile.
“Sorry. Company. Don’t stress.”
A first-rate grunt issued from one of the rooms inside this truly cozy apartment. Colorful area rugs decorated the beige carpeting, a bright blue runner leading them from the foyer to the living room. The living room was meant for big men watching sports—sturdy leather couches and thick wooden end tables surrounded a big-screen television, and the dining room to the left was an afterthought.
Cash imagined Glen would rather eat cereal in front of the TV in his underwear than cook an omelet in jeans.
“Don’t want him freaking out when he sees me?” Cash asked.
“Don’t want him chasing you around with his penis,” Glen muttered. “Horny bastard will come on to everything that moves.” Cash must have looked alarmed because Glen shook his head. “He listens to ‘no,’” he added. “And he’s considerate enough—I mean, we share a wall, and I’d hear complaints. But no gay man in South San Francisco is going to come within a mile of this place if he doesn’t slow down. I swear he buys lube at Costco.”
Cash snickered. “Lucky him.” He sobered. “How about you? You having a, er, lube shortage?”
Not subtle. That was not subtle. But then, they hadn’t needed subtlety that night in Las Varas.
“No,” Glen said, looking him dead in the eye. For the first time Cash got a look at the pain there, at the damage, and his heart twisted. He’d done that, and no matter how necessary it had seemed at the time, Cash could feel the damage done by that breach of trust. “Not since you.”
Well, at least Cash could give him this. “Me neither,” he said gruffly. “I… not since you.”
Something glittered in Glen’s eyes, and while Cash couldn’t put a name to it, it made his heart a little lighter in his chest.
“Good.”
Cash smiled, biting his lip. “Yeah. Backatcha.”
Glen’s face shuttered again, and Cash sighed. “Can I… can I shower?” he asked plaintively. He looked at Glen, who appeared almost as rumpled and travel-stained as he was pretty sure he did. “Or, you know. We could shower together.”
Glen shook his head. “You can go first. Do you have clothes?”
Cash shook his head. “I, uh, anything you could lend me. Everything in my knapsack is none too clean.”
“It’s all too big,” Glen muttered. “Jesus, kid, you been living on sweet air and promises?”
Cash raised his hand and feathered a touch down Glen’s cheekbone, underscoring the leanness and the fact that Glen looked possibly worse than he did. “Like someone else I know.”