Kit must have slipped past Darius’s defenses too. Because Darius didn’t have a ready quip when James asked, “Are you dating Kit?”
Darius shouldn’t date Kit.
His career was easier without romantic entanglements. Darius had told Kit that James never dated anyone seriously before, but he wasn’t much better himself.
If a job went wrong? If Darius collaborated with the wrong employer or informant? If his mentor called in a favor?
Best case scenario, Darius had five different contingency plans to completely disappear. He could leave behind everything and everyone in the life of Darius Fontaine.
Worst case scenario, Darius brought trouble home.
Even if everything went well, Darius made a terrible partner. He vanished at random for weeks, even months at a time. No contact, not even a text message. Like James, Darius could never trust someone who didn’t know his dark side. He played at clubs and picked up the occasional date. Settling down was always something he imagined for his retirement.
But he could see how this would work with Kit, even with James involved. Especially with James involved, as much as Darius hated to admit it. If he had to leave for six months, James would be there to look after Kit.
“Tough question, huh?” James slid over to one of his laptops. His smile was sly as he tapped away.
Of course, co-dating with James would have some definite downsides. Darius stood and moved to the open gear bag tocheck over his spares. “Not too tough. I just don’t rush into things like some people I know.”
While that statement left plenty of room for James to joke back, James’s next reply was unusually serious. “Just don’t fuck around with him, okay? I know what you’re like.”
Darius set down a clip and stared at James. He didn’t even have to say anything.
“I know, I know, I’m the last person to talk about that. But Kit’s…” James melted into that dazed, sappy expression that both mystified and made complete sense to Darius. “Kit’s different.”
“I’m not fucking with him, but I’m not moving in on the first date like some people.” Darius shrugged and returned to his inventory.
His hopes of peace and quiet lasted about half a minute this time.
“We should go out on a date,” James said.
“No.”
“The three of us,” James clarified. “A proper date. I’ll treat you both to the symphony. I’ll buy you new clothes and show you a real nice time.”
Darius probably couldn’t throw James out the window without somebody noticing. “You know I’m rich too, right? I’m not a billionaire, but I can afford fucking symphony tickets.”
James continued musing. “I’ll reserve a private box, so Kit can sit on your lap, and I’ll tease him until he cries.”
Darius paused, imagining. The idea was more appealing than defenestration. “That sounds like it could be disruptive to the other symphony patrons.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll bring a ball gag,” Darius decided.
Ignoring James’s smug grin, Darius slumped in the other foldout chair. Checking emails on his phone turned to rereading recent messages, turned to flipping through a specific gallery of photos. James had done a good job making Kit look dead, intensifying the makeup and altering Kit’s skin tone. Even though Darius knew the photos were fake, and that would be obvious with any real analysis, they were eerie. The way Kit sprawled, blank-eyed, his pale bare arms limp on the rough concrete…
Wait.
Darius frowned, and James immediately asked, “What’s wrong?”
“The photos of Kit,” Darius said.
“Fuck you. I did a great job.”
Darius waved him over. “Look at his arm.”
James leaned over Darius’s shoulder, falling quiet. After a moment, he exhaled, clearly seeing the same thing as Darius: both of Kit’s thin arms, completely unblemished. Except less than an hour after those photos were taken, there was a faint pink scald on Kit’s left wrist. Which Kit had claimed he got that morning.
