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HUSH
By Bestselling Author, Tal Bauer.
SYNOPSIS
A U.S. marshal running from his past.
A trial that can plunge the world into war.
Federal Judge Tom Brewer is finally putting the pieces of his life back together. In the closet for twenty-five long years, he’s climbing out slowly, and, with the hope of finding a special relationship with the stunning Mike Lucciano, U.S. Marshal assigned to his D.C. courthouse. He wants to be out and proud, but he can’t erase his own past, and the lessons he learned long ago.
But a devastating terrorist attack in the heart of DC, and the subsequent capture and arrest of the terrorist, leads to a trial that threatens to expose the dark underbelly of America’s national security.
As Russia beats the drums of war, intent on seeking revenge, and the United States struggles to contain the storm before it races out of control, secrets and lies, past and present, collide in Judge Tom Brewer’s courtroom. With the world’s attention fixed on Tom and this case, he suddenly discovers he may be the only person who can put everything together in time to stop the spark of a new world war.
PURCHASE LINKS
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EXCERPT
Once or twice through the years, Tom had a longing for more, but a few weeks of perusing his top secret stash of gay porn and nightly dates with his hands usually cured him of that longing. He sexed himself out, or bored himself with the repetitiveness of his porn, the same old, same old that could never replace another warm body sinking into him, spreading out over him, the weight of a man pressing him into the mattress.
The night before, he’d been too depressed, too maudlin, too morose to even consider fooling around with himself. He hadn’t been as uninterested in himself in years.
Friday morning was one of his swim days, and he was up early, feeding Etta Mae. Etta Mae ate and did her business and took up position on the couch, flopping down for her morning nap. He kissed her head and headed out, gym duffel over his shoulder and garment bag in one hand.
The DC morning was already warm, practically midday hot with a cloudless sky stretching overhead. He left just early enough to miss the crush of commuter traffic and ducked into the Foggy Bottom metro station. A transfer at Metro Central, and then he got off at Judicial Station.
The plaza gym at the courthouse complex was exclusively for the judiciary, federal employees, and DC metro police, and he used the swimming pool there three days a week.
Did Mike ever work out there?
Oh, for Christ’s sake.
He forced himself not to think of Mike, or of anyone, any male body, any male body part. Any fantasy man he’d concocted over the years, any perfect assortment of smiles and laughs and soft eyes gazing at him. He just swam, lap after lap, water rushing by his head, sluicing over his body.
He took too long in the shower, leaning in the hot spray with the water running down the back of his neck. He’d gotten older, somehow. His legs were wiry. His hips were narrow, but not sexily so, not anymore. He just looked thin. His shoulders had always been wide, swimmer’s shoulders, and his arms nicely toned. But his chest had a smattering of gray hairs poking out, traitors hidden in the sparse strands of brown. He hadn’t bothered sprucing himself up, manscaping as they called it these days, for two decades. What was the point?
If he found someone, he’d have to start paying attention to himself again.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
Putting the thought firmly out of his head, he finally shut off the shower and toweled off. Got dressed, and managed to dry and fluff his brunet-with-a-little-bit-of-salt hair into the DC side-swept style that was all the rage for mid-forties guys like him. He looked like every other middle-aged man in DC. Maybe a little thinner. He’d never let himself get overweight. But he was boring. As boring as… well, a judge.
There was a coffee shop in the lobby, a requirement for all federal buildings to keep the wheels of bureaucracy turning. Every morning, he bought his first cup there, one of his only indulgences. A sugary, whipped cream monstrosity, ridiculous, but delicious.
“And… a medium drip, heavy on the cream, please.” Tom passed over a ten with a weak smile to the barista.
What was he doing? Buying Mike’s coffee? Mike got his own coffee every morning just fine. This was stupid. He was stupid.
Still, he took both cups—his sugar meltdown, Mike’s refined brew—and headed for the Annex.
Maybe he’d run into Mike on the stairs, and he could pass it off as a mistake, an oops of the baristas. If Mike never saw his own order, maybe that would fly.
Yeah, right.
No Mike on the stairs. He could dump the coffee in the trash, forget his lapse in good judgment. He could banish all evidence of his foolishness.
He badged his way into the private corridor, the long bright hallway that led to his chambers. Past the line of courtrooms, four in a row, and the chambers of his fellow judges on the fourth floor, Judge Tonya King and Judge Dana Juarez. Past the smaller offices for the law clerks and their secretaries.
And, at the end of the hall, Mike’s tiny office.
Mike’s door was open. He was early.
Well, go figure, after yesterday. Mike had been mortified. His ex sounded like a nightmare. Good riddance.
He couldn’t think like that.
Tom closed his eyes, hovering in front of his own office door. He could still ditch the coffee.
“Hey, Judge Brewer!”
Uh-oh. Mike’s cheery voice slammed into him, and footsteps paraded down the hall. “Good morning,” Mike called. “Happy Friday.”
“Morning.” Tom opened his eyes and turned to Mike.
Mike was a devastatingly handsome man. He hit all of Tom’s buttons, poked at every one of his deeply buried yearnings. He wanted to rake his fingers through Mike’s hair, lying like waves of perfect, sunbaked sand that stretched for miles. He’d look gorgeous in a tiny bathing suit, stretched out on a towel on some empty beach, laughing and smiling as the sun brought little drops of sweat to his skin, beading into rivulets he’d lick off. Mike would taste like the sea, like happiness and sunshine and freedom. Like the joy the perfect blue of his eyes promised.
Mike had a folder in his hands, and he flipped through the pages, reading off names and sentences for minor drug charges and weapons possessions. Tom’s brain caught up seconds too late. “…looks like Lincoln’s gang, for the most part, isn’t knocking on the doors of the big leagues. Lincoln must be a connecter between his people and the bigger fish. His guys are just the leg breakers.”
Tom blinked. “Too bad we couldn’t get Lincoln to flip.”
“You tried your best.” Mike reached for Tom’s keys, dangling off his pinky finger as he clutched his sugary coffee. “Let me get your door, Your Honor.”
“Thanks.” He could stare while Mike’s back was turned. No one would know. He could stare at Mike’s shoulders, his back, the muscles moving beneath his white button-down. Mike had ditched his suit jacket in his office and he wore his shoulder holster, his weapon clipped beneath his armpit. His shoulder blades rolled beneath the straps, his back muscles flexed—
Mike stepped back and held open the door. “Here you go.”
Tom’s gaze snapped up. He fixed a smile to his face, a stretch of his lips he hoped wasn’t too ridiculous, and headed into his office.
“Double coffee today?” Mike hung back in the doorway.
“Actually…” Here goes nothing. “This is for you.”
Mike’s jaw dropped.
“Just in case. I need my inspector fully caffeinated.”
Slowly, Mike smiled and took the offered cup. He shook his head, chuckling to himself, and a flush darkened his neck. “You’re too kind about what happened, Judge Brewer.”
“I’ve got a reputation as the oddball of the court to uphold.”
“Chief Judge Fink would have brought me up on contempt of court charges.”
“He probably would.” Tom grinned. “But I have always been more lenient with first time offenders.”
Mike was quiet. He stared at his coffee, spinning the paper cup in his hand. “I’m beginning to understand why that ends up working so well for you.” His eyes lifted, met Tom’s gaze.
Tom’s grin grew, turning into a smile. “‘I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.’”
Mike’s head tipped, cocked to one side. He frowned, as if searching his memories. “Abraham Lincoln?”
Tom nodded.
“Thank you for the coffee, Judge Brewer.” Mike spoke softly and saluted him with the cup before he backed out of the office. He kept smiling the whole time, and Tom’s stomach fluttered as he watched him go.
There wasn’t a chance in hell that he and Mike could ever be together, no matter how attracted he was to the man. Mike’s tastes didn’t run to boring mid-forty-year-olds, as evidenced by exhibit number one, the photo of his ex. But, maybe there was a chance at a friendship. God knew he could use a friend. His life was empty, purposely empty, achingly empty.
He wasn’t a greedy man. He’d take whatever he could get, whatever friendship might one day be offered or extended.
Baby steps. He had to unbarricade his closet door, crawl his way out of solitude. Twenty-five years was a long time. His forged persona fit him like a tailored suit, a mask he’d hand-made to perfection.
He already felt exposed, allowing feelings he’d ruthlessly squashed for decades to bubble up, attractions he never allowed himself to acknowledge given free rein this morning. Panic clawed at the base of his spine, scratched up his neck. What if everybody knew? What if everybody saw, that morning, what he’d hidden for forever? Eyeballs on him, hundreds of eyeballs, thousands, millions when it hit the news. When the papers screamed “gay judge” and the news shows talked about his outing, dissected his life, and his creepy old professor rose from the grave, his bones rattling as he pointed a skeletal finger at Tom and shrieked, “I knew it!”
Tom took a slow breath and closed his eyes. He could forget all of this. Shut his office door, not listen for Mike’s voice, or look up when Mike walked down the hall, passing by. Not catch his glances, his smiles. Not dream, or hope, ever again. He could go home to Etta Mae and his empty house and lock all his doors, barricade his closet higher, build a Great Wall to repeal invaders wielding flags of hope, rainbow banners held by shirtless men who smiled, who laughed, who were proud of who they were, and wanted him to rappel from his prison tower down to them.
But his tower was in a lake, an ocean, an ocean made of tears, tears of all the men in all the years, decades, centuries before him, who had their dreams crushed, their lives destroyed, when someone found out their Secret.
History was a cruel mistress, a harsh teacher.
He thumbed at his coffee cup, playing with the plastic lid. The sounds of the courthouse coming alive began to fill the hallway. Peggy coming in, unlocking her office. His law clerk, Danny, skateboarding down the hall. He could only get away with that if he came in before Chief Judge Fink. Judge Dana Juarez, down the hall, calling good morning to Peggy.
Mike’s voice, saying hello, striding past his office. He was heading for Judge Juarez, probably chatting with her about her high-risk trial coming up next week.
Mike glanced into his chambers, smiling. He still had Tom’s coffee in his hand. He raised it, saluting Tom again.
Tom nodded back.
He left his office door open.
In his mind, he imagined himself slowly taking bricks down, one by one, and peering through the crack.
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
Special Edition Available on Kindle Unlimited
in US & UK.
getBook.at/EnemiesOfTheState
getBook.at/Interlude
getBook.at/EnemyWithinEO3
STANDALONE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tal Bauer is an award-winning and best-selling author of LGBT romantic thrillers, bringing together a career in law enforcement and international humanitarian aid to create dynamic characters, intriguing plots, and exotic locations. He is happily married and lives with his husband and their Basset Hound in Texas. Tal is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Mystery Writers of America.
Connect With Tal
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I've downloaded my copy 😁
ReplyDeleteWhen the universe is finally giving you the chance to "live", it'll be up to you if you would shy way from happiness or...if you would embrace it. Like Mike said, Tom is so, so brave. <3
ReplyDelete