High Concept

by Whitley Gray

  “I’m not letting you go down for something you didn’t do. You’ve been framed, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it.” Zach huffed out a breath. “Everything about this case is one bizarre turn after another. We’re getting close to something big.”

  Zach wasn’t distancing himself, wasn’t letting go. He was just as invested in this as Beck. For a moment, Beck let that sink in. If he could wrestle himself out of this entrapment, they could still potentially close the case. He took in a deep breath through his nose, caught a lingering hint of Zach’s aftershave. “You’re right. But for now, I can’t do anything official to help.”

  “I’ll take care of the official end of it. Look, I’m going to follow up some of the stuff we’d started. I’ll check with the lab on the money, spend some more time on the records.”

  “I want to see everything. You can bring copies—”

  “Beck.” Zach sighed. “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Yeah? You’re not the one sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  Nothing. The unnerving silence reached through the phone. Maybe Zach played by the rules.

  “Okay. I’ll bring copies,” Zach said. “It’s three o’clock now. Why don’t I meet you at your place around six? I’ll bring dinner.”

  “Okay.” That gave him time to do an errand and get the place cleaned up. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” The phone crackled. “Hang tough. I’ll see you in a while.”

  Beck studied a spider migrating across his windshield and took a shaky breath. “Yeah. See you in a while.”

  Regardless of the accusation and McManus’s edict to “stay out of it,” Beck wasn’t going to sit back and watch his life go up in flames. Waiting for the wheels of internal affairs to grind through the mess might take longer than he had. After all the shit of the past week, he might not be alive to defend himself.

  * * * *

  “Sure you’re not ready for dinner?” Zach stowed groceries in Beck’s refrigerator.

  “Not hungry.” At the kitchen island, Beck flipped through Weaver’s juvenile records.

  Sighing, Zach closed the refrigerator. A nice meal of pan-seared steak and baked potatoes in Beck’s stomach would improve the situation, but Zach could hold off cooking for a while. Until Beck had scoured the files, it was unlikely he’d take a break to eat.

  That afternoon, Zach had hoped his FBI contact would get the computer mess unsnarled in short order, but so far no word. Zach poured coffee into two mugs and deposited one on the counter in front of Beck. Settling on the other tall stool, Zach blew on his and took a sip, rolling the brew around on his tongue before swallowing. “Since the warden won’t allow me to speak with Brown directly, I’m checking into speaking with his new cell mate.”

  “Mmm.” Beck didn’t touch his coffee; he said nothing and studied the files, a muscle working in his jaw.

  Zach grimaced. He ached to reach out and comfort him, but Beck might not welcome that. A few steps away was the bedroom, and that sounded a hell of a lot better than discussing this mess. “The cell mate Riggs lived with up until a few weeks ago is a possible source of information too.”

  After a moment, Beck sighed and favored Zach with a gray-eyed gaze. “Right. Only that cell mate isn’t incarcerated in the Colorado penal system right now.”

  “No?” Zach squinted. “So that’s a dead end?”

  “He’s at some transition house.” Beck shifted to face Zach. “We can try to track him down, but any information he gives is going to be voluntary.”

  “If that works out, maybe we can find the individual who did the hiring.”

  “If we can’t get that done in short order, I’ll—you can interview the current cell mate.” He dropped his gaze to the papers on the counter.

  “Got a name?”

  “Not yet. I’ll get it for you. If I’m not in jail.”

  So much for conversation. Zach pulled over one of the files and began to read. Fifteen pages of shoplifting and juvenile incarceration later, Zach had two possible associates and blurred vision. “You finding anything?”

  “Not much. Doesn’t seem like he was in with the same kids during any two detentions.” Beck shrugged his left shoulder, winced.

  “Sore?”

  After a long few seconds of gazing, Beck admitted, “Maybe a little.”

  “How does a massage sound?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Like foreplay.”

  “Turn.” Zach cracked his knuckles.

  “The records—”

  “Will still be here. Let’s take a break.”

  For a moment, Beck hesitated. Zach lifted an eyebrow, then raised one finger and rotated it in a circle. It was apparent Beck’s determination to get this thing settled had him hunched over these records, tense and in pain. Beck pivoted, giving access to his back.

  Zach shifted on his stool, getting comfortable, and ran his hands down the chambray covering Beck’s spine. “This’d be better without your shirt in the way.”

  Beck let out a shivery breath and started on the buttons. Zach slipped his hands beneath the fabric, tracing the muscles. Beck hauled his shirt off over his head, and Zach chuckled. He made small circles with his fingertips, gauging how tender the muscles were around Beck’s shoulder. “Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Beck cleared his throat.

  Pressing his thumbs into the muscles on either side of Beck’s neck, Zach rubbed. “Tell me if this is uncomfortable.”

  “No, it’s good.” Beck’s head dropped forward.

  Zach couldn’t resist brushing a kiss over the smooth skin of Beck’s shoulder. God, Zach loved that smell, the mix of cologne and sweat and skin. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the knobby vertebra at the base of Beck’s neck.

  “Hey, masseur. Getting a little fresh there, aren’t you?”

  “All part of the service.” He dug his thumbs into the knotted muscles running along Beck’s spine, working down and back up. Cautiously he started on the ridge of muscle between Beck’s shoulder and neck. After a few minutes, the tension began to fade.

  Beck groaned. “Feels good.”

  The sound went straight to Zach’s cock. That’s how he sounds in bed. He stood, grasped Beck’s hips, and pressed his groin against Beck’s ass. With a sigh, Beck slid his right hand around Zach’s neck. Beck dropped his head back on Zach’s shoulder, and angled for a kiss. Warm air gusted across Zach’s cheek as the rough growth of Beck’s whiskers scraped against Zach’s own. And oh the memory of that stubble on the skin of Zach’s inner thigh… He shivered and dived in for a kiss, going straight for deep exploration.

  Beck broke away, panting. “This is a really good massage.”

  “How’s this?” He brushed his fingers along Beck’s straining fly and gently squeezed the hard cock beneath his palm.

  This time Beck gasped out, “Better all the time.”

  Zach smiled against Beck’s shoulder and squeezed again.

  “Jesus.” Beck brushed Zach’s hand away, spun on the stool, and pulled him in between parted thighs, shaking with need. “Horizontal. Now.”

  The lust in Beck’s voice stole Zach’s breath. This was what they both needed. As he wrapped an arm around Beck’s waist, Zach tilted his head and locked on to Beck’s mouth. With the other hand, Zach reached between them and drew Beck’s zipper down, tooth by tooth before working his palm inside until his fingers closed on hot flesh.

  Beck moaned into Zach’s mouth.

  * * * *

  Zach yawned. He traced little circles on Beck’s bare chest as they lay in bed. Zach could go for a nap, but Beck showed no sign of snooziness. On the bedside table, Zach’s phone vibrated. Had Dean gotten his equilibrium back? One glance at the screen showed a text from “unknown caller,” not Dean. Zach ignored the call. Anyone who really needed him was on his caller ID.

  Beck sat up. “Go ahead and answer.”

  Zach grabbed him around the waist and wrestled him flat. “Don’t need to.”


  Beck gazed at him. “I don’t mind if it’s your ex and you need to talk with him.”

  “It’s not him.” Talking about Dean wasn’t exactly the way Zach wanted to bask in the afterglow. He looked away, resting his head on Beck’s chest.

  “Were you together for a long time?” Beck’s fingers teased along Zach’s shoulder.

  Zach took a deep breath. “Two years.”

  Beck grunted. “Huh.”

  “What happened between you and Van?”

  Beck’s hand froze.

  Crap. Apparently this wasn’t a give-and-take kind of conversation. Zach pushed up. “Sorry. None of my business.”

  Wariness showed in Beck’s eyes, but he pulled Zach down into a soft kiss and settled him back into position, arm tight around his shoulders.

  “He couldn’t deal with the shooting.” Beck huffed out a breath. “An injured lover wasn’t in the cards. Someone might figure it out if he spent time with me off the job.”

  Paranoid bastard. Zach moved closer, pressing his body against Beck’s side. “Sorry.”

  “What happened with your ex?”

  Come clean. “Dean and I broke up over his narcotics addiction.”

  Beck’s voice rumbled beneath his ear. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Zach sighed. “He went through detox and quit using. The first time I had to leave town on a case, he jumped back in with both feet. It was…bad. I couldn’t predict if he’d OD when I was gone, or if he’d get high behind my back. He’s a nurse, and I worried he’d kill somebody. Ironically, he kicked the habit for good after we separated.”

  “You still talk, though.” Fingers combed through Zach’s hair, rubbing his scalp.

  “We’re friends, but that’s as far as it goes.” Zach rested his chin on Beck’s chest. Friends, because Dean couldn’t let go of Zach, and Zach couldn’t let go of the guilt. Classic codependency. When Zach had been in dire straits, Dean had stayed, never complained, never threatened to leave. No, Dean had stuck by him, not caring about the prospect of disability and dependency and dealing with a partner who couldn’t participate in the visual world if Zach never recovered.

  When Dean had relapsed, Zach had run.

  Zach’s cell buzzed on the nightstand. He shifted, leaning over the side of the bed, and grabbed the device. One glimpse of the screen told him this would require privacy. “Littman.”

  FBI, he mouthed to Beck, grabbed his boxers, and trotted out to the hall.

  * * * *

  For the first ten minutes of Zach’s call, Beck relaxed in bed, gazed at the ceiling, the clock, the unread novel on his night table. A low mumble came from the living room. He swung out of bed and padded to the doorway. Zach sat in near-naked glory on the couch, scribbling notes. He glanced at Beck and raised his eyebrows.

  Beck pointed down the hall, mimed taking a shower.

  Zach nodded and went back to scribbling.

  After the loneliest shower in recent memory, Beck slung a towel around his hips and wandered into the living room. Zach had finished his call and had a pen clamped in his teeth as he shifted papers.

  “Everything okay?” Beck didn’t want to know if the answer was negative.

  “Better than okay. That was the guy I know in the computer crimes division. He got a trace on the funds that were deposited in the inmate bank. The money originated in an offshore account, routed through a bank in Switzerland, a couple of private banks, and a phantom stop at your bank. Numbers only. The money was never deposited in your account.”

  “Numbers only?” Beck frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means it was a setup. Whoever orchestrated this thing put an electronic signature on your account to make it look like the money went there, but it never did. The genius hacked your account, put in a fake transaction, and moved the money from A to B without a genuine stop at your bank.”

  “Who did this?”

  “Don’t know. We may never know because of the heavy privacy surrounding electronic banking.”

  Now that was a real piss cutter. “Someone set me up, and they can’t find out who? This guy tried to trash my career, damn it.”

  “It would’ve shaken out eventually. Whoever it was wanted to put you out of commission for a while. It has to be this case.”

  “It didn’t take twenty-four hours to clear up. Why bother?” Beck paced in front of the coffee table.

  “The person behind this has formidable resources. It was a sophisticated plan. This kind of hacker doesn’t come cheap, and I doubt they counted on the FBI looking into it. DPD could’ve been tracing it for weeks, and you’d have been on administrative leave.”

  “Or worse. It could’ve been jail.” Beck shook his head. “Does that mean I’m cleared?”

  “My guy will fax the report to McManus and the DA, and you’re exonerated.”

  Thank you, Jesus. Beck grinned. “Thanks.”

  “Hey. Mighty is the power of the FB fucking I.”

  * * * *

  “You think McManus will call tonight?” Beck leaned against the kitchen counter and did his best to let his appetite quell his libido. Fresh from the shower, Zach looked good enough to eat. Beck licked his lips and took a sip of water. The news he’d been cleared had resuscitated his desire for dinner, and by the looks of it, Zach was a great cook.

  “It may take some time for the administrative dance to play out, but he knows you’ll expect to hear from him.” Zach rolled olive oil and red wine around in a skillet, studying the way the mixture coated the pan. The rich fragrance of vaporized spirits filled the air. He set the pan on the burner and added a pat of butter. While it melted, he unwrapped the steaks.

  “It’s not that late.” The clock above the stove read eight in the evening, but the call would likely be tomorrow. The DA wouldn’t be inclined to grant the courtesy of calling tonight, let alone anteing up an apology.

  The steaks hissed as they hit the hot oil. “Try to relax.” Zach carried a carton of fresh mushrooms to the sink, rinsed, and blotted them dry. “Will you eat mushrooms?”

  “Edible fungus? Sure. I’m easy.”

  Zach grinned. He flipped the steaks and poured more wine into a saucepan, followed by the mushrooms. “Can you throw those potatoes in the microwave?”

  They topped the steaks with blue cheese and ate at the counter, talking about the differences between Denver and Minneapolis. Great food, great conversation. Beck could get used to this. As they talked, his phone buzzed across the Formica. A glance showed a screenshot of a badge, and he squashed anticipation.

  “Stryker,” he said.

  “You’re cleared and reinstated,” McManus said. “Back on the case.”

  Beck closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Thank you, sir.” He was conscious of Zach’s warm palm landing on his thigh and opened his eyes to see a wide grin.

  Congrats, Zach mouthed.

  The Man paused. The familiar beeps and whistles of the hospital sounded in the background. “I’ll expect you and Dr. Littman first thing in the morning.”

  Beck straightened. Did the Man know Zach was there? “Yes, sir.”

  He lowered the phone to the counter. Zach stood and wrapped his arms around Beck from behind. “It’s awfully late to go back to work tonight.” Warm kisses heated Beck’s shoulder and moved along the side of his neck. “Want to stay in and celebrate?”

  He pivoted in the chair and ran his hands down Zach’s arms from shoulders to elbows. “Yeah. But after I finish my steak.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Twelve hours and two orgasms later, Zach drummed his fingers on the conference room table as he waited for Beck to finish in McManus’s office. What was taking so long? All the documents had arrived last night, and handing over Beck’s gun and badge was a five-second transaction. If they were going to track down leads this morning, they needed to get going.

  The door opened. Beck’s tight expression read trouble. Zach narrowed his eyes. Were there strings attached to the r
einstatement? “You’re back on the job, right?”

  “Yeah.” He pulled out a chair, arranging it to face Zach, and took a seat. “McManus had the information on Riggs’s cell mates.”

  That was good, right? “Okay. We can jump right in.”

  Beck locked on to his gaze. “The guy paroled a month ago is Tibby Wright, now at a halfway house.”

  “That’s doable. Who was the more recent one?”

  Beck pressed his lips together and shifted his gaze to the floor. “Jedidiah Brown. The guy who killed Riggs. He’s in solitary now.”

  “Probably pointless to pursue him as a lead,” Zach said. “If Riggs was as terrified of him as he seemed, doubtful he’d confide in him.”

  “True. So let’s see if Wright has anything.”

  On the conference room table, Zach’s phone buzzed, humming its way across the scarred wood until hitting one of the binders. Fuck. He really didn’t feel like talking to Dean, didn’t feel like propping him up after their last conversation. He grabbed the cell and checked the screen. Worse. Sands.

  “Hello, Director.” He struggled to keep his voice level. Out of the corner of his eye, Zach glimpsed Beck stand and exit the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Omaha called about a new development in their case, and I need you on it,” Sands said.

  At least the Sandman got right to the point. “What happened?”

  Sands grunted. “They found another body.”

  “It happens.” Zach gazed at the ceiling. “What do they need?”

  “An interview.”

  “With whom?” A split second before the words filled his ear, Zach knew.

  “Xavier Darling.” The tone carried no apology, nothing but a bald statement of the name.

  As his stomach threatened to return his breakfast, Zach stared at the scrawl of Beck’s name on the Day-Glo orange seal on the box of files, at the sharp cut Beck had made through the signature before removing the box’s lid this morning.

  “Why?” Truly, he didn’t want to know. “I’m tied up with this case in Denver, and the prison has a house psychiatrist.” Not Zach’s problem the shrink was easily manipulated by Xav.

  “This victim is missing the heart.”