Cold-Hearted Concept

by Whitley Gray

  Gently, Beck pierced him, slid his finger into the hot clench. He closed his eyes. So good. His pulse throbbed in his ears and his cock. Soon.

  “More,” Zach murmured.

  Beck added a second finger, sliding deep, in, out, in, aiming for that magical spot. And…there it was. Zach gasped and pushed back. Beck withdrew his fingers. “Roll over.”

  Zach rolled and opened his thighs.

  Settling on top of him, Beck said, “I missed you.”

  “Missed you too.”

  Beck claimed Zach’s mouth, licking at him to open. Zach tasted familiar, like coffee and the remains of chocolate mint. With eager thrusts, Zach’s tongue dueled with his, gentle, then aggressive, then gentle.

  Zach lifted his hips, and his erection bumped Beck’s already hard length. As much as Beck wanted to bury himself in Zach’s sweet ass, he wanted this to last more. Something to treasure, the heat of skin on skin, the scent of arousal, and the muffled whimpers Zach made when his need became unbearable. Beck shifted and let his cock take a couple of teasing pokes at Zach’s entrance.

  Zach tore his mouth away. “C’mon, Stryker.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  Beck guided his leaking dick and pressed, slowly pushing into that hot velvet grip. Beck squeezed his eyes shut. The feel of that resistance on his shaft, surrounded and held inside Zach’s body…astonishing. Better with someone he loved. Better than anything on earth.

  He kissed Zach’s ear and began to move, slow and deep. Make it last.

  But it could never last long enough, especially not after being apart. Harder now, faster, almost a scrape on his cock. Shift to get the angle right. Beck asked, “How’s that?”

  Panting, Zach moved with him. “Perfect. Just…more.”

  It might not be the most creative way they’d ever done it, but it was always good this way. Beck shoved against Zach, taking hard strokes, carrying them toward the edge. Hearts pounding, bodies straining, working together to hit the top.

  The familiar hot tingle gathered in the small of Beck’s spine, and his nuts tightened.

  Zach smothered a yell on Beck’s shoulder, and wet heat erupted between them. The rhythmic contractions on Beck’s dick sent the electricity rolling through him, and he came in lovely calescent pulses.

  Afterward, he pulled Zach in, and they curled together. Beck closed his eyes and savored the warm weight against him. God, that was satisfying. A real physical encounter versus phone sex or fantasy. A nap, and then round two…

  Beck dozed.

  After a while, Zach’s voice woke him. “Dinner?”

  “That an invitation?”

  “Absolutely. Bet we can rustle up something in this town.”

  “As long as we’re not gone too long. I don’t want to miss round two.”

  * * * *

  Zach opened his eyes to dust motes dancing in the blade of foggy sunlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains. He rolled over; Beck lay stretched out on his belly. In sleep, Beck looked young and vulnerable. Full lips parted, a two-day growth of stubble, and arms tucked under his pillow. Like this, he didn’t resemble a homicide detective.

  Best friend and lover.

  So far they hadn’t spent any time on the problem of their ongoing separation or what Zach intended to do about it. Making a graceful departure from profiling hadn’t gone the way he’d planned; he was still tangled up in it.

  The long-awaited Colorado medical license had been in Zach’s mailbox when he went to the apartment to pack for the trip. There was no longer any reason not to leave the behavioral unit.

  Other than Zach’s reluctance.

  If it weren’t for that niggling feeling that no one else could manage Zach’s cases as well as he had, it would be easy to leave the unit. Maybe his ego was the main roadblock here. Maybe loss of control was. He and Beck had agreed that Zach would let go of profiling and move to Denver, and Zach could do that. But there was that niggling feeling… Ego? Or reality?

  They might need me.

  You’re not indispensable, Littman. Shrink your ego down to size.

  It was Sunday, but Zach had to meet with the state police and the locals. That would leave Beck alone for most of the day, and he had to fly back to Denver tonight. Zach would remain in North Platte until he’d advised the law enforcement teams in detail. Four hours or four days, whatever it took.

  And that time would start soon enough. Beck had put up with so much. Not many guys would hop on a plane to steal a few hours together. It spoke to Beck’s dedication to making this work.

  Over the past few months there had been way too much time apart. Too much making do. Now they had each other live and in person. Each second they spent together repaired the frayed fabric of their relationship. Before the day got underway, Beck deserved a little tenderness.

  Zach kissed the corner of Beck’s mouth, kissed his way over the landscape of scars on his left shoulder, and down the knobs of his spine. Beck murmured in his sleep and rolled to his back.

  And now for the main event. Zach dragged the covers down. Beck’s morning wood stood up in a bright and early salute. Zach kissed the head, took the shaft in his mouth, and got a taste of saline.

  Beck groaned, and a hand came down on Zach’s head. A glance at Beck’s face revealed his eyes were open at half-mast, and he wore a faint smile, part humor and part lust.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Beck said, voice gravelly with sleep.

  Zach’s cock hardened. He grinned around his mouthful and sucked harder. Hand around the root for double the action, a tease of tongue to the sensitive spot beneath the head, the way Beck loved. Forceful sucking alternating with soft, sweet slides on that thick, hot erection. Beck’s hips gave a quick thrust accompanied by the salt of precum.

  With his free hand, Zach cradled the fuzzy firmness of Beck’s balls and gave a gentle tug. Beck shivered and thrust again. “Christ, Littman.”

  Beck had once accused him of having an oral fixation. When it came to taking care of Beck, Zach tended to agree. There was nothing better than the feel and the taste of Beck in the morning. Zach hummed along the shaft, and Beck clutched the sheets in both hands.

  “My God.” Beck threw his head back, eyes tightly shut.

  Almost there…

  A tickle of the slit. In Zach’s palm, Beck’s nuts drew up. Zach watched his face take on that look of pleasure-pain.

  One more hard suck.

  “Fuck. Coming now.” Beck’s cock began to jump, heated pulses pumping over Zach’s tongue, salty and sweet. This was the best part of sex after a long dry spell; Zach could practically feel the pent-up frustration draining away.

  Taking care of Beck was satisfying. Not just the physical action of coaxing out his release, but the emotion that went into loving him like this.

  Beck’s cock softened, and Zach let him slide free.

  “Get up here,” Beck said.

  Zach yielded, stretching out against Beck’s side. They were both damp from exertion. Beck wrapped a hand around Zach’s neck and pulled him in, pressing their mouths together. After a soft “good morning” peck on the lips, Beck deepened the kiss, hot tongue pushing inside. Another thing Zach loved—sharing the taste of them together.

  “Hi,” Beck murmured.

  Zach grinned. “Hey.”

  “You didn’t come?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I’ll show you good.” Beck covered Zach’s mouth with his and closed his hand around Zach’s dick.

  * * * *

  Red streaks shot through the gold of a Minneapolis sunset, casting a sanguineous path across Zach’s desk as the light bled out of the day. Sunday was well on the path to becoming night.

  The hum of the fluorescent lights was the dominant sound in the main room of the behavioral unit. The office was empty, except for Zach. And Sands.

  Beck would be home by now. Alone, away from Zach. Once again apart, feeling the pinch of loneliness. After spending time together,
the pinch was especially sharp, burning like nettles.

  Zach pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. Hard to believe he’d been in Nebraska that morning, briefing local law enforcement. At least he’d finished in time to see Beck off. After a final sweet session between the sheets, Beck had left for the airport at five. One for the road, Beck had said. Then he’d pulled a promise from Zach to tell Sands good-bye. For good. The minute Zach concluded the business in North Platte. And at the time, postcoital and pleasantly boneless, Zach had agreed.

  Now…

  If only the Denver FBI office had a profiling unit. Then Zach could try for a transfer. No use wishing for what couldn’t happen. Leaving Minneapolis meant leaving profiling behind. He could practically hear Beck say, It’s for your own good.

  Sweat stuck Zach’s shirt to his back. Sands behaved like a wounded bear sometimes. God knew he’d used that personality often enough to bulldoze over Zach’s repeated attempts at discussing his resignation.

  No time like the present. Let’s do this thing.

  Zach concluded his electronic case report, attached the file to an e-mail, addressed it to Ruskin with a copy to Sands, and hit Send.

  Sending…

  Message sent.

  Done. Ruskin could pick it up from there. Because Zach was finished.

  God, that sounds so…final.

  With a sigh, he pushed out of the chair and headed for Sands’s office. Zach paused with his knuckles an inch from the door.

  No. No more procrastination. He knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Zach swung the door open. “Hello, Director.”

  The head of the Minneapolis BSU sat behind his mammoth desk, snacking on jelly beans and bad coffee as he reviewed cases and profiles on a Sunday evening. No personal life.

  “Littman. What can I do for you?”

  As if you didn’t know. “I’ve completed my report on the North Platte case.”

  Sands nodded. “Have a seat.”

  As soon as Zach sank onto the chair, Sands shifted into interrogation mode.

  “What’ve you got?”

  “It’s the same.” Zach could see the autopsy suite, could smell the choking odors of mud, decaying vegetation, and corpse. He fought back a shiver. “A blonde woman in her early twenties. Strangled with the same kind of necktie, a Tarka silk. The cuts, the ritual washing, and the wrapping in a sheet are all the same. No other victims known at present in the location, but we’ll see.”

  “Migration to a new killing ground.” Sands made a sound halfway between a snort and a growl. “Traveler?”

  “With six victims in Omaha, I don’t think he’s an itinerant killer. He knows what he likes and how to get it. My take is he left Omaha due to the discovery of his burial ground there. Drove straight west along the Platte River. There are several bigger college towns along the way, but he went for a girl at the university in North Platte. Then he buried her by the river.”

  “Is that his new preferred dumping ground?”

  “No. I believe my original profile is correct. This killer is very organized. Taking only blonde college-age women indicates he’s interested in a specific target demographic. And he likes to take his time with the victims. It’s possible he passed through, stopping only long enough to get relief.” After three months without the pressure release from a kill, the need would have built. “He might be fanning out from Omaha to avoid discovery. Any city of a reasonable size within three to five hundred miles is possible. He could do that in a weekend. So far all the victims have disappeared on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. Anywhere with a college of some sort would likely attract him.”

  “Let’s send an alert to the major law enforcement agencies in that radius. If they have anything similar, it might help.” Sands paused. “Have you spoken with Omaha?”

  “No. I advised the lead detective from the Nebraska State Patrol. She’ll coordinate the effort between the involved counties and Omaha.” The FBI didn’t investigate homicides, only advised. Anything seen as an attempt to direct the case would cause hostility. More hostility. Something Zach wouldn’t miss in the least.

  “Very good. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “About that, Warren. My Colorado license came through. I’ve submitted my report on this case and turned everything over to Ruskin. I’m done.” Zach had discussed his impending departure with Sands on multiple occasions; he’d declared the license arrival would signal his departure. This time the resignation had to stick. “I’ll be available by phone for questions, but that has to be all.”

  “What about coming out of the field and teaching the forensic course to police departments? You’d have a more regular schedule and still have a place here.” Sands gave him a friendly look.

  The crocodile smiled…

  “I’m not interested in road school. I’m moving out of the area.”

  “Oh?”

  Zach bit back an expletive. Sands knew about Zach’s planned move to Colorado. “Yes. I’m moving to Denver. You approved my leave for the first two weeks of June to cover for the Denver Police Department psychiatrist.”

  “So I did.”

  “I won’t be coming back, Warren. I made it clear months ago that the medical license was the end, and you agreed.”

  The director’s tone softened. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”

  “I’m sure. My time with the bureau has been educational, but I need a change.” I need a life.

  “I hate to let you go, Zach. You’ve been a real asset to the Minneapolis Regional Office.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. But this has to be the end.”

  “Tell you what…”

  Uh-oh. Never a good sign. Zach made a fist, dug his fingernails into his palm. Don’t give in.

  “You’ve got two weeks’ paid leave coming. Take that time now and think about it. Stay on the payroll, keep your badge and credentials while you get a clear idea of what you want to do. Then you can segue into the cross coverage for the DPD psychologist. We can talk after you wrap that up. Mid-June.”

  “There won’t be anything to discuss. I’m done.”

  “Zach.” Sands rose from his chair and stepped around to the front of the desk, parking his rear on the desk as he crossed his arms. “You’re a gifted profiler. Don’t do this.”

  Beck is more important. “I need to.”

  “Don’t throw away your career.”

  And what a career it had been. Psychopaths. Death and destruction. Human misery. Loneliness. But he had done some good—helped capture some very bad people. He excelled at the job, but it was too much of a trade-off. Hell, it was downright unhealthy, living among the detritus of serial murder. “You’re not hearing me.”

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  Zach stood. No way was he letting Sands get away with that vertical intimidation. The mistake had been staying as long as he had when he could have been with Beck. “I’m confident I’m making the right decision. I’m done, Warren.”

  Sands let out a heavy sigh. “Please. You have a ton of leave built up. Take the paid leave before I accept your resignation. I owe you that much.”

  You have no idea. Zach schooled his features, masking the conflict roiling inside. The FBI had trained him well when it came to hiding emotion.

  Eyebrows ticking up, Sands dropped his hands and clasped them together. “The government’s money is as green as anyone’s. Take the paid leave.”

  The niggle in his mind meant the proposal was a bad idea, like going after a bad guy without backup.

  Say no. He’s got an agenda. On the other hand, taking paid leave would give Zach access to his cases, including the Crossroads case. And he had two weeks until he began working as the covering psych specialist for DPD. It was a reasonable thing to do. Get paid to be with Beck.

  It’s not the same as “done.”

  It’s an investment in the future with Beck. “Two weeks?”

  “Two weeks.” Sands rested his palms on
the edge of the desk. “Then you’ll begin covering for the Denver PD psychologist. After that, if you decide to come back, give me a call.”

  Never happen. “Okay.”

  The tone turned brisk, businesslike. “I may have Ruskin call you if this Omaha Crossroads Killer case heats up.”

  “A call is fine, but please don’t see that as continued attachment to the unit, Director.” Zach hoped the words sank in this time. “I’m severing ties with the bureau.”

  Sands barked a laugh. “I hear you, Littman. Loud and clear.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Take care.”

  “You too.” Zach headed out of the office. Free. Truly free. It had been years since he’d had a real vacation. Now he had two weeks off to do as he pleased. Now he was free to hop a plane to Denver in the morning. Now he could begin a new chapter in his life, one including Beck full-time. They’d waited months for today, and it was finally here.

  At last, Zach was out of the serial-killer-investigation gig. So why did he feel like someone had kicked him in the gut?

  * * * *

  Beck stood on the mezzanine at Denver International Airport, watching the heavy Monday midday commuter traffic. Zach’s plane had landed thirty minutes ago. Where was he? Beck surveyed the sea of faces.

  There. A long-legged figure in jeans and a verdigris polo shirt. Zach’s tousled too-long golden hair had a careless sexiness, and his eyes crinkled as their gazes met. Beck gave a full-out grin.

  “Hey.” Zach returned the smile. “You made it.”

  “Damn straight I made it. I’ve been waiting a long time for this day.” Beck grabbed him in a hug. God, it was good to have Zach here after so much waiting and wanting. He smelled of faded citrus cologne and coffee and needed a shave. Beck had never seen him look better. “I missed you.”

  Zach laughed and hugged him, then drew back. “It’s only been a day.”

  The cumulative absences had not been easy. Every parting slowed time, left him aching. Beck’s heart swelled with happiness. “Feels like a year.”

  “Yeah.” Zach’s attention dropped to Beck’s mouth.

  They’d never kissed in public, strangers all around in the light of day. Beck licked his lips. There was always a first time…but no. Not here. He grabbed Zach’s bag. “You have a lot of luggage?”