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eccentric parents.
    Brock soon arrived at the edge of the new estate where his brother’s house sat on a decent-sized plot, halfway down a tree-lined avenue. Despite the miserable weather, he felt uncomfortably warm and was glad to make it to the sanctuary of the front hall, where a small puddle gathered around his feet as he stripped off dripping outdoor clothes and boots. Feeling progressively worse, he met his own piercing blue eyes in the hall mirror and grimaced. His skin looked clammy and his hands shook a little.
    “Bloody vaccinations,” he muttered. He climbed the stairs slowly, passing a number of his own, neatly framed photographs and headed for the guest room bed. “Better just sleep it off.” He grabbed a towel from the en suite and gave his hair a rub then stripped to his underwear and went to draw the curtains. He frowned at the sheets of driving rain. A tall man sheltered under a tree opposite the house. “Blimey, he must be soaked.” Brock shrugged. His only concern was how quickly he could get into his comfy bed and sleep away the after-effects of his inoculations. He pulled the curtains closed and slid gratefully between cool sheets as his body reacted to the cocktail of drugs swimming through his system. Sleep came quickly and he drifted into dreams of distant jungles and the amazing pictures he would take.
     
    * * * *
     
    Outside, under the dripping tree, Kyle Dawson shifted uncomfortably. He had just been treated to a glimpse of the most tempting body he’d seen in some time and his cock had started dancing to its own tune despite the cold, damp conditions. He shook water droplets from the caped shoulders of his long, waxed coat and tilted the brim of his hat forward a bit further. Kyle knew exactly where the subject of his observation had been that day, indeed for the last two weeks, though today was the first time he had gotten close to Brock’s home.
    He closed his eyes and recalled the details of the file he had been given. Lysander Brock, known as Brock to his friends— parents clearly had a thing for Shakespeare because his brother’s name was Ferdinand . Six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes— stunning blue eyes in Kyle’s opinion —one-hundred-eighty pounds— all completely edible —aged twenty-five. Permanent address listed at his parent’s home in Northumberland. Professional photographer with work published in practically every travel and wildlife publication worth reading. Very well-traveled, with skills that included caving, climbing and hiking. Currently unattached. Two previous boyfriends known, neither particularly serious. Or deserving , Kyle thought grumpily.
    He pictured the photo hidden in his inside pocket and licked his lips. He knew he should be maintaining a cold, clinical approach to the task ahead but for Christ’s sake, this guy was stunning and there was no harm in dreaming. After all, he’d been chosen for the job specifically because he was also gay. His bosses had thought he would blend in better if he needed to follow his quarry to gay pubs and clubs, though in the end, that had not been necessary. Lysander Brock led a very quiet life when he wasn’t working.
    “You’d have no chance, you idiot,” he muttered under his breath, “even if you weren’t about to ruin his day.”
    Kyle looked around carefully to make sure he was unobserved then crossed the road. The appalling weather worked in his favor, as very few people were out and about. Confident that there was no one around to witness his swift journey across the garden and through the unlocked gate, he slipped down the side of the house and in to the back garden of the property. Tall hedges and mature trees shielded it from the neighboring houses, giving him all the time in the world to pick the lock on the door and slip quietly into the kitchen.
    Kyle found the back door key on a wall hook. He relocked the door, slid the additional bolt shut and removed the key, tucking it safely into his