'You Belong to Me' - coming Nov. 26th from Dreamspinner

You Belong to Me

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_1253

Coming Nov.  26th - available now for pre-order.

Description:

Corey Byrne loves his family—as long as he only has to see them once a year. Since he’s not out to them, it makes things… tense. Returning to his job at a homeless shelter after Christmas, he finds someone has left him a very expensive present. Soon, he begins to get messages from the anonymous gift giver. Then Corey’s friend Brad is murdered in Corey’s apartment and undercover detective Scott Reed is assigned to protect Corey. As they work together to find the killer, they realize they’re starting to care about each other. However Scott is unwilling to act on his feelings unless Corey comes out to his family and coworkers. As the threats from the stalker intensify, Corey is forced to admit that love is too precious to hide from. Perhaps now is the time to be honest about who he is and accept the possibility of love in return—before it's too late.

9 - ‘Come gentle night…’

Kemp packed his things—all of one backpack worth of clothes and assorted personal items—and moved from the rattrap hotel to what turned out to be a small bed-and-breakfast not too far from the Quarter. The owner’s wife was very friendly, hovering over him like a mother hen with a chick. She insisted he join the other guests for supper once he’d unpacked. The room itself was small but homey, with multi-colored throw rugs on the hardwood floor and a cheerful comforter on the single bed. After putting away his meager belongings and talking a quick shower, he made his way back downstairs to the dining room. An older couple looked up from one table and smiled before returning to eating. At another table a family of four, the parents plus two young children, were chattering away as they waited for their meal to arrive. Shyly Kemp took a seat at a table in the corner and opened his book.

An hour later he was halfway through the book and finished with his meal, which he deemed one of the best he’d had in forever. Feeling at loose ends and not particularly tired, he decided to go to the Quarter to see if he could make contact with the people on the list his ‘guardian’ had given him.

The evening was young, the sidewalks still damp from a late afternoon rain shower. Kemp strolled slowly down the street from the B&B towards Bourbon Street. As he got closer he could hear music, and soon he melded in with the tourists who were headed in the same direction.

He found the first club easily enough, as soon as he turned onto Bourbon. While he checked it out from across the street he found himself amused at the tourists who would step inside and almost immediately leave again. "Guess not everyone who comes here is a liberal as the locals," he murmured as he crossed and entered.

It looked like any bar in any city from his rather limited perspective, except for one thing, there were almost no women there, just a few at tables at one side of the room. A couple of them were with male companions, the others sat in groups of two or three eyeing the men in the room. Kemp wondered how long it would take them to realize that those men were not available, at least to them. As he watched from the doorway he saw one pair finally figure it out amidst giggles and rolled eyes before they got up and left.

Silly twits, he thought as he walked hesitantly towards the bar.

“Well aren’t you a pretty one,” one of the men sitting there said, looking Kemp over thoroughly, his eyes lingering at his crotch.

“Eyes front,” his companion growled, but he too checked Kemp out before wrapping an arm around his friend’s waist possessively.

“Can I help you kid?” the bartender asked when Kemp took a stool well away from the pair.

“A beer please.”

The bartender snorted. “You sure you’re old enough?” he said, holding out his hand for Kemp’s ID. After checking it he handed it back, muttering, “Barely,” before asking, “Draft or bottle?”

“Bottle of, umm, Bud?”

The bartender nodded, handing it to him a moment later. Before he could take off Kemp asked, “Is Mr. Sinclair here?”

“Yeah, he’s around somewhere. Why?”

“I was told to talk to him about a job,” Kemp said, sitting straight, trying to look as if he knew what he was doing.

The bartender looked him over and nodded. “You’re talking to him. Know anything about waiting tables or bussing them?” 

“No sir, but I’m willing to learn. I really need a job.”

8 - ‘Come gentle night…’

“Here you go.” The man handed Kemp the driver’s license. As per the agreement with Leif, it was an excellent fabrication of one from the state of Washington, the thinking being that it would draw less scrutiny than one from Louisiana.

Kemp had to laugh when he saw that, according to the license, he’d turned twenty-one two days previously. Tucking it into his wallet and thanking the man again he turned to leave.

“Hang on kid, I got something for you,” the man said. “Be right back.”

Kemp shrugged and leaned against the short counter to wait, figuring it was probably some message from Leif. He’d only talked to him once, right after he’d gotten to New Orleans yesterday afternoon, calling collect from the phone booth in the lobby of his hotel. A cell phone was definitely not something that was in his budget at the moment. They’d talked for a while, Kemp assuring his brother that he was just fine and would call again once he’d settled in. He wasn’t about to admit that the only place he’d found that he could afford made his room back in Seattle look like one at the Ritz.

The man reappeared with some papers in his hand that he handed to Kemp.

“What’s this mean?” Kemp asked as he read one of them.

“It means you’ve been upgraded from hovel to halfway decent living quarters for the next month. You’re brother’s no fool. He checked out where the phone was you called from and then called me to find out what the place was like.” The man shrugged. “I told him and also let him know I could hook you up with a better place.”

“And how much is it going to cost me?” Kemp mentally checked his dwindling resources.

“For the moment, nothing. The place belongs to a friend and he’s willing to wait on the rent until you get a job. After that, well it’s affordable. The other paper is a list of a couple of places you might try getting that job. I know they’re reputable and the owners won’t try to take advantage of you, if you get my drift.”

Kemp looked at the names and nodded. He recognized them from his walk around the Quarter a couple of hours ago. He’d actually debated making them his first stops tomorrow when he began his job hunting.

“If I were you I’d go get your stuff and head to my friend’s place before it gets dark,” the man told him, a cautionary look in his eyes.

“You’re the second person who’s warned me about that.”

The man nodded. “And I think you know why, so heed the warning. You’re kind are not exactly popular in some circles.”

Kemp started to bristle angrily until he realized what the man was, or more to the point wasn’t saying. “Since you know Leif, I’ll take that for what I think you mean.”

The man laughed. “Trust me kid, I didn’t mean 'cause you're gay. Around this area that’s almost a selling point, not something to be ashamed of. Now get out of here, but keep in touch. Your brother’s appointed me sort of your guardian in absentia, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Yes sir, I will. And…”

“You say thanks one more time and I’ll wash my hands of you. Got that?” The man glowered at him before smiling, pointing to the door.

“Got it sir, but I do anyway,” Kemp replied as he left.

7 - ‘Come gentle night…’

“So your Leif’s brother huh? Sure don’t look like him. Him all big and brawny and you looking like you barely tip the scales at one thirty if you’re lucky.”

“One forty-five. Well maybe not now, I’ve sort of been fasting.”

“In other words it’s like Leif said, you’re probably living on the streets pretty much.” The man Kemp’s brother had sent him to for new ID looked him over and shook his head. “Gonna be hard to make anyone believe you’re over twenty-one.”

“I will be in a couple of years. I’ll just tell people I look young and then piss and moan about no one believing me.”

“Not too much or they’ll know the ID’s fake no matter how good a job I do. You keeping your own name on it?”

Kemp thought and then nodded. “Yeah, that way I won’t blow anyone off when they say my name, the way I might if I took a new one. I read that in a book a while back. It’s not like I’m on the run or anything.”

The man cocked an eyebrow but said nothing other than to tell Kemp to stand in front of the screen. Once he had, the man looked through the camera lens and shook his head. “Don’t smile, and hell, do you have a comb? Do something about the hair. You look like a damned high school dropout.”

Kemp rolled his eyes but did as the man said, combing his hair back and smooth and then staring at the camera soberly. After a couple of tries the man got a picture he approved of.

“Now get out of here, go get lunch or something. Be back at 4:30 and not a second sooner.”

“Yes sir, and thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Leif. He’s paying the freight on this.”

Kemp nodded and left. He found a cheap diner, where he killed an hour over a burger and coke while reading a book he’d found stashed in a drawer at the run-down hotel where he was staying. Then, with three hours still to go he decided to catch the trolley into the Quarter and check out the clubs. Surely one of them would be looking for help and once he had his ID he’d be able to get a job. He knew better than to think he’d snag one as a singer but if he could be a waiter, or even a busboy if clubs had such things, at least he’d have a foot in the door.

6 - ‘Come gentle night…’

“Thanks for the ride,” Kemp said as he got out of the car. The man just nodded as he pulled away. “You coulda said thanks back,” Kemp grumbled. After all he’d ‘paid’ for the ride by giving the man head a couple of times on their way from San Antonio to New Orleans. Then the man had unceremoniously dumped him at the edge of the highway, telling him he could probably catch a ride into the city proper from there.

Kemp could see the downtown from where he stood and figured he’d be better off walking than trying to catch one last ride. Sitting down on a convenient rock he opened his backpack and took out his other pair of shoes. They were ratty from wear, but when it came to walking, a lot much more comfortable than the ones he had on. Once he’d changed them he hefted his pack back on his shoulder and took off.

Two hours later, wiping the sweat from his forehead one more time, Kemp dropped down onto a bench next to a shop that seemed to carry voodoo paraphernalia. He looked around, smiling tiredly. The area was straight out of all the movies he’d seen of the city; old buildings with wrought iron balconies, music coming out of the open doors of some of the clubs and restaurants, with tourists, and he supposed locals as well, strolling down the street.

“Made it,” he whispered in awe. “It was worth all the creeps with their grabby hands and tiny dicks.” As with the last of his rides, he’d used his mouth, and occasionally other parts of his body, to pay for his traveling from Seattle to New Orleans. Hell, one look at him and the men had just assumed he’d do it, and who was he to tell them different if it got him a free ride.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to un-plaster it from around his face, before taking out the wallet he’d bought to replace the one that he’d lost. After checking to make certain no one was paying attention to him, he quickly counted the cash he had left. Unless New Orleans was much more expensive than Seattle he could probably make it for a week, if he only ate once a day and found a cheap hotel to park himself at night. “Real cheap,” he mumbled under his breath. Until he got the lay of the land he wasn’t willing to sleep rough. So, for at least the next couple of nights he needed shelter.

“Guess it’s time to see what’s what,” he told himself, not realizing he’d said it out loud until a voice asked, “Need a guide?”

Glancing up he quickly shook his head. “Nope, I’m fine. Just needed to get my bearings is all,” he told the dark haired man who stood there.

The man shrugged his shoulders. “Word of warning kid, stay off the streets after dark unless you know what you’re doing.” He studied Kemp for a long moment, his lavender eyes seeming to see deep inside him. Then he turned and walked away.

‘Talk about weird,’ Kemp thought as he hoisted his backpack over one shoulder and began his search for food—and someplace to crash that he could afford.