by Elle Keaton
“Jesus, Troy.”
Just as the words left his mouth, a white light in the ceiling started to flash and a voice came over the speaker system. “A code red has been issued for level three. Building engineers are investigating.” The message repeated several times, and the light continued to flash.
Troy and Carsten looked at each other. A bad feeling started making itself known in Carsten’s stomach. Hospitals probably had fire alarms go off all the time, but Carsten didn’t like it. Not at all.
“Just a sec. Don’t go anywhere.” Troy looked at him like he was out of his mind.
Carsten opened the door to Troy’s room and peered down the hallway. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Nurses weren’t running scared; a doctor carrying a file entered a room a few doors down. Fire alarms, it seemed, were not something to worry about.
Soren’s room was at the other end of the corridor. When Carsten pushed the curtain aside and entered, he was glad to see him safe in the bed. He was not glad that Beto was missing, along with Dany.
“Where are they?”
“Dany went to get something to eat while Beto and I talked, and then the alarm went off. The nurse said it’s coming from the cafeteria.”
Carsten had a moment of clarity: This was Beto’s life. He protected people. When he thought people were in danger, he ran toward the danger, not away. There might be times Carsten wished it were otherwise, but Beto didn’t work that way. He couldn’t witness an injustice and ignore it. He was a good man.
For the next twenty minutes, Carsten alternated between checking on Soren and Troy. He didn’t think it was irrational to worry that something might happen while everyone was distracted. After all, there were still men walking free in the community who Troy could identify as members of Sanctuary.
Beto returned while Carsten was in Soren’s room. It was immediately apparent something had happened. His color was high, and his suit was ever so slightly rumpled.
“What?” Carsten demanded.
“Dany pulled the alarm. Everything is under control now. His grandfather had some idea he was going to mete out family justice. The only justice being served is to that creep.”
“Where’d Dany go?” Soren asked.
Beto sat heavily in the chair next to Soren’s bed. “He was pretty upset.”
Soren moved like he was going to try to get up. Beto put out a hand to stop him.
“He’ll be fine. Give him some time. The elder Petyr said some terrible things. Richardson is down there now, and they’re taking the grandfather away. Dany’s going along to give a statement.”
Soren sat back, but he didn’t look at all pleased with what Beto had said. “He’s gonna run.”
“You can’t know that.”
Soren glared at him. “I can and I do. He was already tearing himself up because I got shot by a relative of his. I tried to explain it could’ve happened anytime; I’m in danger all the time.”
“I’m sure that conversation went well.”
“Yeah, well.” Soren plucked at the thin blanket. “I need to get out of here.”
“You will,” Beto said, “when they’re ready to let you go. Then you can go and talk some sense into him.”
Soren huffed his disgust at that, but he didn’t have another option at the moment.
* * *
“I’m glad,” Carsten said.
Beto glanced at him before his eyes went back to the road ahead. They were heading to Carsten’s apartment for some clothing and other supplies.
“Glad for what?”
“I’m glad you’re out there catching the bad guys and putting them behind bars. I don’t know how to say it right, but … people like you, Beto, make the world a safer place for people like me.”
The car swerved a little to the right. “Dios, Carsten, I’m no saint.”
“Did anything in there sound like ‘saint’? I just mean I would never want you to stop being an investigator. Not unless, someday, you wanted to. I’m glad you catch the bad guys and put them behind bars.”
* * *
Carsten hesitated at the top of the stairs. The door to his apartment, Troy’s apartment, was ajar. Carsten knew Beto spotted it the same time he did, maybe earlier. He pushed past Carsten and toward the open door, reaching under his suit jacket for his weapon as he moved.
“Stay here. Do. Not. Move. From this spot. You have your phone?”
Carsten nodded.
“Call 911. Stay on the line with whoever answers.”
Carsten regretted his spontaneous declaration of love for Beto’s profession on the ride over.
Beto kicked in the door. “FBI! Freeze!”
Muffled thumping sounds came from the open doorway. The door stayed open when Beto kicked it, the knob stuck into the plaster wall. Yep, that damage deposit could be kissed goodbye.
“Stay down, you motherfucker, I will shoot you. Do you see the gun in my hand? Put down your weapon. Now.”
Belatedly, Carsten realized he was standing there with his phone in his hand. He’d never even tried to make the 911 call. He crept toward the doorway, wanting to make certain Beto was okay.
Christ, the apartment was completely trashed. It looked like a party had gone very very wrong: His photographs were torn from the walls and punched out of their frames, the couch looked like it had exploded, and even from where he was standing, Carsten could see that the contents of the kitchen cabinets were strewn all over the floor. Carsten peered at the man on his knees in front of Beto, gun now tossed to the side.
“Did you call?” Beto didn’t look at him when he asked.
“Uh, no.”
“Good, call Klay instead.” Beto rattled off a number. Carsten dialed, and Adam Klay answered almost immediately.
They must have come at the end of the intruder’s rampage. If he’d been looking carefully in the beginning, by the end he’d just been tearing things apart.
Carsten looked at the man. Sirens sounded in the distance, surely on the way to Carsten and Beto.
“Do you think I am stupid enough to have hidden evidence here? In my home?” He’d finally recognized him. It was Stan Getty, the man Troy had just been talking about. Carsten snorted as he heard the thump and ping of footsteps coming up the stairs behind him. The rest of Beto’s team arriving to take this demon away to where he belonged. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Cloud? Why would I keep evidence where you could destroy it?”
Getty snarled and made as if he was going to stand, but Agents Richardson and Gómez burst into the room.
“Looks like you’re done,” Carsten said. “I hope I never have to look at you again, and if I do I hope it’s when I testify that you and your associates stole the lives of innocent children, teens, and anyone you believed was lesser than yourself. You’re not human, you’re a monster.”
Beto, who’d put his gun away, patted Carsten’s shoulder. “Funny, I said almost those exact words a few hours ago.”
30
Beto – epilogue, September
* * *
“Seriously?” Carsten asked. He was lying in bed, loose limbed and sated from being pounded into the mattress but staring at Beto like he’d lost an important card from his mental deck.
“Serious as measles.”
“You want to go to Iceland? You want to take me to Iceland?”
“For as much crap as you had to go through to prove your identity—to get your identity back—we need to make use of it.”
It had taken months of paperwork and investigation, finding people other than Dany who recognized him and back and forth with the IRS and other agencies before Carsten finally had legal ID in his possession. At fourteen he hadn’t had a driver’s license, and his mother had never gotten him a passport. It had been difficult to locate his birth certificate, since she hadn’t named him before leaving the hospital.
Carsten was incredible. Beto couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have him in his life. How close it had been for the both of them.
“But … Iceland is cold. Ice and land, it’s in the name.”
“C’mere.”
Carsten rolled toward Beto, resting his head in the crook of Beto’s arm. “What?”
Beto grabbed his phone from the bedside table and scrolled to an Instagram account with pictures of Iceland at all times of year. Then he showed Carsten the other oddball things he’d found.
“A penis museum?” Carsten wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to see a bunch of dried old dicks.”
“Well, there aren’t any human examples—and hey look, here’s something else, the Museum of Icelandic Sorcery and Witchcraft.”
“Lemme see that.” Carsten snatched the phone from Beto, scrolling through the page and then pulling up a map and peering at it.
Beto grinned. He knew he had him.
“I can’t afford it, though.”
Beto had learned his lover was fiercely independent—and so he should be after surviving what he had. “For one thing, yes you can.”
Carsten had settled with the state. Initially part of a larger lawsuit brought by the survivors of that particular human trafficking ring, he’d opted to settle out of court so he wouldn’t be required to face the men who had stolen his youth. He’d be testifying in the federal case, and that was plenty. Beto supported his choice. Carsten was one of the strongest people he’d ever met. It was Carsten’s life; he was the one who chose what happened. Beto just wanted to continue to be a part of it.
“Hmm. Well, then I want to buy our tickets.”
“What, you go from arguing with me to buying tickets in less than ten minutes?”
Carsten tossed the phone aside and rolled all the way onto Beto, pinning him down and tickling him until he cried “Uncle!”
“Okay, you can buy the tickets,” Beto said, laughing.
October
* * *
Carsten leaned over the railing, pointing to the gush of water. Beto had the ridiculous urge to grab the waistband of his jeans so he didn’t fall in. Wouldn’t that be ironic: Find the man he loved, only to have him swept away by the raging waters of this unpronounceable waterfall.
“It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Carsten shouted above the wind.
Dios, Beto thought again, he was gorgeous. They’d flown a red-eye, landing in Reykjavik around seven a.m. After picking up the rental, they’d decided to head north toward that damn museum, but Carsten had been studying the map and insisted they make a pit stop at Iceland’s “second most beautiful waterfall.” Beto had chuckled but agreed. He didn’t care where they went while they were here—he only wanted to have Carsten to himself.
The falls were beautiful, but he couldn’t help calling out, “Get back from there.”
Carsten ignored him, patting the railing. “C’mere!” The wind and cold had given his pale cheeks a sexy glow. Of course, Beto thought everything about Carsten was sexy. He went and stood next to his lover, his anchor and his sail.
He was constantly and forever amazed by Carsten. How a person could survive what he did and come out of it still joyful and willing to share that joy with others, not hoard it only for himself—that was a gift. Beto wasn’t going to question it, he was going to accept what was offered to him.
He gazed out at the falls. The water was seventeen different shades of blue all at once. It came bubbling, rushing, gurgling, swirling out of the earth to flow down toward the edge of the land.
“I knew the water would match your eyes,” Beto said as he tucked in next to Carsten at the railing.
Carsten smiled, a smile Beto knew was reserved only for him. Slow and sure, the smile went the distance, all the way to Carsten’s Icelandic eyes. “I love you too,” he said.
* * *
There were other tourists at the falls, more than Beto had imagined would be traipsing around a country with the word “ice” in its name—especially in late October. But most of the roads were still passable, although the owner of the inn where they were booked had said they were one of only two reservations.
The inn was still at least a two-hour drive from where they were. Beto wanted to cross the mountains while he had daylight. Neither of them was very experienced driving in snow. “We should get going.” But he didn’t move.
“I know, it’s just so beautiful I can’t stop looking at it.” Carsten had his camera, one of them, hanging from his shoulder. He turned it on, fiddling expertly with various dials and buttons. He’d tried teaching Beto about exposures and f-stops, and they just ended up having sex. Beto was perfectly happy with the pictures his smartphone took.
Beto gave him space to take as many shots of the falls as he liked, passing the time while he waited by watching a group cross a bridge to the other side of the rushing water. Everyone here was a stranger, and no one seemed to care about two men traveling together who were obviously more than friends.
“Give me that hideous phone with a camera on it.” Carsten’s voice broke through his musing. Beto handed him his phone. Carsten fumbled with it, muttering about phones and cameras and how they were not the same thing. Finally he held it up and out a bit, grinning at Beto. “It’s selfie time.”
* * *
Later, at the bed and breakfast—much later, after they’d rested and had the sex Beto’d been anticipating—he brought up the other thing that had been on his mind. He was lying on his side, stroking the path of Carsten’s spine while Carsten lay facedown in the pillows. They’d managed to knock the cozy comforter almost entirely off the bed, but the room was warm enough without covers.
“I’ve been thinking.” Beto traced upward to the base of Carsten’s neck.
“Mmmm,” Carsten said.
“I’ve been thinking,” he repeated, “you should come with me to LA next month.” Beto traced back down to where Carsten’s ass rose in a beautiful mound.
Carsten rolled onto his side. “Come with you to LA?”
“I know we haven’t talked much about it, and I didn’t want to just assume it was something you wanted.” They hadn’t seriously discussed their future, mostly because they’d both had so much crap to deal with in the months since Bakker, Petyr, and the rest of the ring had been arrested and tossed in as dark and cold of cells as was allowed by law while their trials and appeals wended their way through the system. “But Klay’s sending me back to California, and I’d like you to come with me.”
Carsten rolled all the way over and sat up, naked and sexy as hell. He’d cut his hair before the trip, saying he was done with it. Beto kind of missed it, but his man was gorgeous no matter what he did with his hair.
“You’re asking me to move in with you—officially?”
They’d pretty much been living together since the end of March. It had become somewhat more formal when Carsten and Troy’s lease had ended in August and Carsten had moved the rest of his things in. Still, ostensibly Carsten was only staying with Beto until he found something else. Plus they’d planned this trip and blah, blah, blah—all these were excuses in Beto’s mind. He wanted Carsten in his life, loved him. He didn’t want Carsten to find another place. He wanted Carsten in his life every day.
“Sí, you think you can hack it? Life with me won’t be easy. My hours can be long and irregular.” Although honestly, if he wasn’t on an active case, his hours were fine. Before Carsten he’d had nothing to look forward to at home. Home had been a lonely place.
“Are you trying to make an honest man out of me?”
“Do you want me to?” Because Beto would. In a hot LA second, a second so hot an egg could cook on the street before the time was up, he’d make Carsten his forever. Honest and true.
“Maybe I’m the one making an honest man out of you.” Carsten grinned, shuffling on his knees to close the tiny gap between them. Beto’s heart almost stopped beating. Maybe it didn’t beat for a second or it skipped one—Carsten had made an honest man out of him. A man who wanted to live in the open, honest and out, no more hiding.
“You are
, you did,” he managed to rasp out. “You made an honest man of me.”
“I’ll probably need you to marry me. Isn’t that how being an honest man works?” Carsten straddled Beto’s lap.
“Are you warning me or asking me?”
Carsten shrugged. He was still flushed from their lovemaking, or maybe he was blushing.
“Carsten Quinn,” Beto grabbed Carsten’s left hand in both of his, “will you marry me? Will you move to LA with me so we can start a new life together?”
Carsten nodded but hid his face in the crook of Beto’s neck. Beto felt dampness against his skin.
“Are you crying?”
“Maybe,” Carsten answered, his breath hot, their hands still clasped together.
“What’s wrong? We don’t have to do it right away. Dios, we don’t have to do it at all. It’s just some words.”
Carsten leaned away, frowning at Beto, his eyes brimming with tears and emotion, a wobbly smile on his lips. “It’s everything. It’s not just words, and my answer is yes, although I think you cheated in there somewhere because I asked first—officially first.” He shrugged again, then wiped his eyes. “I never expected to be in this position, with you or anyone. I’m broken. I still have nightmares. I don’t know what you see in me.”
“I’m a bad investment, Carsten, but you have my heart fully and completely if you want it.”
“You’re a bad investment?” His voice rose. “I’m a, an expired boy toy, used up and thrown away—I mean, my own mother didn’t even bother to try and find me. She was perfectly happy I was gone. I never even finished high school.”
Beto held his lover tighter. “I love you for who you are, not for things outside of your control, and if I had any doubts, they were swept aside when you came to my rescue back in that church like a modern-day Rambo. I imagine you were terrified, but you burst into that room—not knowing what you’d find—and incapacitated Bakker. You did that for me.”
