High Concept

by Whitley Gray

  “Where’re the boys?”

  “My mom’s.” Marybeth closed the door. “About the car…”

  No way was he having this discussion standing in the foyer like a door-to-door salesman. Beck headed for the kitchen, pulling off his overcoat.

  Without an invitation, he hooked the rung of a chair with one foot and took a seat. Folded towels and kids’ clothes occupied half the table. Marybeth sidled past and settled opposite him, clenched her hands together on the place mat. She appeared exhausted, freckles standing out against the pallor.

  Beck reached inside his jacket and withdrew the bank envelope and slid it across the tabletop. “I want you to have this.”

  “Wh-what?” Marybeth locked gazes with him. “Beck, no. I asked for a ride, not this.”

  “Take it. Get the car fixed. Then you’ll have time to think.”

  Marybeth stared at the envelope as if it were a poisonous snake. “No. Danny would hate this.”

  “Honey, Dan would hate it if I stood by and let this happen.” The five hundred bucks was all he could get out of the ATM tonight, but he could manage more tomorrow if he had to. He whispered, “Please, Marybeth. For the boys.”

  A cheater’s way to get her to take it, playing the kid card. Gently, he tucked the thick envelope in her hand.

  Marybeth sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “Just for now.”

  Beck nodded. “Just for now.”

  * * * *

  As expected, Beck’s apartment had an eerie silence as Zach paced a circle between front door and kitchen. Outside the living room window, security lights in the courtyard illuminated the clear October night. Trees cast wavering lines across the concrete pool deck; in contrast to the Stardust pool, the interior of this one was unadulterated by scummy water and lay in shadow, the edge sharp.

  His phone chirped, announcing a text message. On the way. Twenty minutes. Be ready. B.

  Soon. Zach grinned as he stored the message and put the phone away. Tempting to wait in the bedroom, but he’d settle for the living room and a local news program.

  Before he reached the remote his phone rang again, this time with Dean’s ringtone, and the complexion of the evening changed.

  “Dean.” Zach checked his watch. Eight o’clock in Minneapolis. Dean’d probably gotten off work a short time ago.

  “Hola.” The voice held a tinge of sadness, but otherwise the words were clear, normal in cadence and without slurring.

  Thank God.

  “How…how are things?” Zach asked. Idiotic question. Dean’s tone said as much as words for most people.

  “Sorry about the other day. I—it was rude.”

  Relief rose in a tidal wave. Zach closed his eyes. “Forgiven, forgotten. Did you just get off shift?”

  “Nope.” The tone brightened. “I got off early today. Went out to dinner.”

  “A date?”

  Tension ticked up, traveled through the phone on invisible feet. “Burgers with a coworker.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Even if it wasn’t a romance, it was something to distract Dean, keep him from the slippery slope of depression and self-medication.

  “Anyway. Just wanted to check in. The house is fine, and no more…extras in the mail.”

  Zach grimaced. About time the FBI cracked down on the valentine postcards from the prison. “Thanks.”

  “Any idea when you’ll wrap your case?” Too eager.

  “Soon, I hope. We’re making progress.”

  “I…I could visit.”

  Damn it. “Not necessary. Sounds like you’re doing well, going out to dinner and such. It’ll wrap soon, and I’ll be home.” And then we’ll have a frank talk about where we stand.

  A cupboard opened and closed, and water ran in the background. “Okay. Well, give me a call when you get back.”

  “I will.” Zach rested one elbow on his knee and covered his eyes.

  “Okay. Talk to you soon. Peace.”

  “Peace.” He set the phone on the table in front of the couch. Leaning back, he stared at the ceiling. God, please let Dean be safe.

  * * * *

  Beck pounded up the steps to his apartment. For once, his shoulder wasn’t aching, and a night of relaxation lay ahead before tomorrow’s trip to the prison. Regardless of what Zach said, Beck planned to go along. He let himself in.

  Zach looked up from where he sat hunched over on the couch. “Hey there.”

  “Hey yourself.” Beck shed his overcoat, then tossed it over the arm of the couch.

  “Beer in the fridge, if you’re interested.”

  Zach had a glass of water on the coffee table. Waiting for company, or not drinking? In any case, Zach needed to relax. Beck headed to the kitchen and got out a couple of glasses, dropped some ice in each, and pulled a bottle of Crown Royal from the cupboard. Whiskey in one hand and glasses in the other, he headed for the couch.

  Zach lifted an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Company.” Beck unscrewed the cap, poured a splash into each tumbler, and handed one to Zach. “The present company makes it a special occasion.” He recapped the bottle and lifted his glass.

  Clearing his throat, Zach met his gaze. “What’re we drinking to?”

  “A long and rich acquaintance.” And maybe something lasting, but no way could he bring that up. He clinked glasses with Zach and took a sip.

  Zach did likewise and coughed. “Strong stuff.” He reached for his water and diluted his drink, then offered the glass to Beck.

  “Nah.” Beck sipped the Crown, and warmth spread from his stomach to his limbs. God, it felt good to relax. A night to enjoy, before Zach tackled tomorrow’s interview with Xav-D.

  Mesmerized, Beck watched as Zach tried his drink and licked a stray drop from the corner of his mouth, then swept his tongue along his bottom lip. An attractive man, a great mouth. Another sip, another lick. Beck lost track until Zach set his empty tumbler on the table.

  Studying the melting ice, Beck asked, “Another?”

  With a sigh, Zach shook his head. “Better not.”

  “Did I push you into it? Because that wasn’t my intent.” Beck rattled the ice in his glass.

  Zach closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose and rested his head in his hands. “No, that’s not it. Just not looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “Hey. No apology necessary.” He laid his hand between Zach’s shoulder blades. “If you don’t want to do this, I could try talking to him.”

  Zach’s head snapped up. “It’s me he wants. No way he’d pass up the secondary gain here. He’s in for life, and he knows nothing he contributes to solving the Omaha case will change that.” Zach jumped to his feet and paced, hands balled into fists. “It’s a game to him.”

  Xav-D was infamous among Colorado law enforcement. The fuckup a year and a half ago had led to reforms within the prison system. Still, a face-to-face meeting… Beck winced. “We’ll find another way.”

  Zach whirled and spoke through his teeth. “With this monster, there won’t be another way.”

  “Okay.” Mistake to make that offer. Might have blown the mood for the evening. Beck stood, gathered the glasses and whiskey.

  All of a sudden the tension went out of Zach’s shoulders. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Beck nodded. “We’ve got a few hours.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Zach answered the knock at his front door. On the other side of the screen, Xav-D stood dressed as a postman, his mailbag overflowing with postcards, drops of blood spattering the porch. A faint odor of copper and sweat tinged the air.

  “Give me your heart, Dr. Littman.” The wicked grin chilled Zach to the marrow. “Say ‘my heart belongs to you.’”

  “What happened to the hearts of the others?”

  Xav held out his hand. “Never had me a man’s heart.”

  Zach backed away from the door. The guards. Where was the FBI? They were supposed to stop this—

  “Gonna fuck you, then ki
ll you.” Xav jammed his hand through the screen, fingers splayed as they reached for Zach’s neck.

  The call button. Where was the call button?

  Xav kicked in the screen door, snapping the frame like matchsticks. Stepping into the entryway, he flexed his hands and smacked his lips.

  Zach’s gaze ricocheted around the room. Every wall was made of pristine concrete. No windows, no exits. “He’s loose! Help me! For fuck’s sake—”

  Zach jackknifed upright in bed, breath coming in shallow pants, skin slicked with sweat. He shivered and bent his knees up, propped his elbows on them. Despite the gray light defining the bedroom window, the darkness pressed in like cotton, suffocating and filled with menace.

  “You okay?”

  Zach jumped at the unexpected voice next to him. “Jesus.”

  Sheets rustled, and Beck sat up. A warm hand on Zach’s shoulder grounded him. “Hey. You were yelling.”

  Nothing like the humiliation of a nightmare while sleeping with a new lover. Zach scrubbed his palms down his face. “Sorry.”

  Beck brought his knees up and clasped his hands, mimicking Zach’s pose. “Want to talk about it?”

  Shuddering, Zach shook his head. The last time the nightmare had shattered his sleep was three months ago, right after receiving one of those damn postcards in the mail. Was tomorrow’s interview going to make the dreams become a nightly occurrence?

  “I—” Beck cleared his throat. “It happens to me too.”

  In the darkness, Zach stared at Beck’s profile. That was right. Beck had his own demons to wrestle with.

  “Those kinds of incidents change everyone,” Beck murmured.

  True. So true. No doubt Beck had heard about what had happened during Zach’s previous interview with Xav-D—enough to guess the gist of the nightmare.

  “I just want to get this over with.” Zach coasted his palm down Beck’s arm, and Beck turned his palm up and intertwined their fingers.

  “Me too.” Beck squeezed Zach’s hand. Solidarity among the nightmare sufferers.

  Leaning over, Zach kissed Beck. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  They slid down in bed, and Zach settled on his side. Beck’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. For a while Zach counted the warm exhalations on the back of his neck, willing his restless mind to let go, finally giving in to the undertow of sleep.

  * * * *

  Looking death in the face was never easy.

  Looking into the abyss of the unknown was never easy.

  Knowing the abyss was Xavier Darling—horrifying. No antipsychotic on the face of the earth would tame a beast like that. Zach shivered. On the drive to Canon City, the Colorado scenery clicked by, mile markers counting off the distance like footsteps to the death chamber. Thinking about where he was headed brought on a case of the sweats. Seeing Xav in person… Fuck.

  Why was he doing this? The chance of getting any meaningful information was next to nothing. “If he’s shepherding a fledgling killer, we need to know.”

  The state prison appeared out of the fog, first the towers, then the fence, and finally the gate. Beck parked, letting the car idle as he turned in his seat, two vertical lines between his eyebrows. “You sure you don’t want me to come in and wait for you?”

  “I need you to stay completely separate from this.”

  “Zach—”

  “I know it doesn’t make sense.” Despite their location, he grabbed Beck’s hand and ran his thumb over the knuckles. “Please. Trust me on this.”

  Beck’s gaze flicked to the rust-and-sand-colored building with its arrow-slit windows, then back at Zach, holding Zach’s gaze. “If that’s what you need.”

  One more squeeze of Beck’s hand. Zach forced himself to open the door, step out, and shut the door. Everything in him said to stay put, not to do this. He allowed himself a last look at Beck, and then pivoted away and trudged toward the building.

  Colorado had rustled up a biting wind, humming through the razor wire, shoving him toward the entrance. It smelled of nothing outside, as if the prison repelled all scent, and he gulped air. The place had an otherworldly feel to it. He should’ve let Beck come with him as far as the reception area. At least he’d be closer.

  No. Don’t attach him to the visit with this maniac.

  Inside, the air teemed with odors: the nauseating combination of bleach, industrial cleaner, and overcooked institutional food. The smell of hopelessness. A sense of déjà vu froze his feet to the floor. Move. You can do this. Exorcise this demon forever.

  Swallowing, he approached the desk, signed in, and turned in his trench coat, suit jacket, tie, and belt. Last he gave up the comforting weight of the SIG. As soon as this interview ended, he’d be out of here, back to Beck and safety. Clutching a notepad and felt-tip pen, he followed the guard. The electronic door clicked shut behind them. Same protocol as last time.

  No. Not the same. This time, the prisoner would be secured in the room first and guarded until Zach arrived. An inch-thick acrylic wall would separate them. It took more than a thousand pounds per square inch to fracture that barrier—he’d checked.

  A corrections officer led him toward the interview room. White-painted walls, wire-reinforced windows to steel-doored rooms, brighter than Zach’s last visit eighteen months ago, but the echo of their footsteps on concrete remained the same. Every step increased the sense of doom, of his own mortality as if the guard were escorting him to death row, not an interview room.

  At the end of the hall, a spike of sunlight shone through a doorway, and dust motes turned and sparkled, heedless of the presence of evil.

  Two corrections officers stood outside, large bulky men. He took a deep breath and followed the guard inside.

  Zach sighed at the sight of the physical barrier corralling the malignant creature that was Xav-D.

  Obsidian eyes flicked to Zach, and they locked gazes. Xav-D smiled the nightmare smile, teeth no longer jagged points but modified to rounded pegs. Otherwise, the same massive pillar of danger personified. Skin black as an undertaker’s suit. Chains crossed his shoulders and chest. Underneath the links, a straightjacket bound his arms.

  Zach dropped his gaze to check beneath the table on Xav’s side of the barrier. Shackles around the waist and feet, leg irons. Steel rings in the floor as thick as Zach’s wrist held the restraints.

  “Satisfactory?” asked the guard.

  Zach spoke without breaking eye contact with Xav. “Okay. Leave the door open.”

  The CO’s boots clopped on the tile, and he spoke in a low voice to the others. Zach eased into a chair and put his notepad on the visitor’s table. Faint scratches were visible in the acrylic around the metal voice communicator set into the wall. Bulletproof, Zach’s research had said.

  “Ah. You is back.” The deep voice sent a shiver down Zach’s spine.

  “I’m here to see what you have to say.”

  “I have a question.” Xav leaned toward the wall. The confidential murmur invited intimate conversation.

  Zach scooted back. A thousand pounds per square inch. An impenetrable barrier, at least physically. Meeting Xav’s bottomless gaze, he waited for the trussed-up man to fill the silence with his question.

  “You like postcards?” The white smile expanded to fill his face, bright against the dark skin. “What about red paper hearts?”

  Typical. He’d expected something like this, phrased in such a way Zach knew what he meant, yet wouldn’t leave Xav exposed to self-incrimination. After a few seconds, Zach said, “I came about a case.”

  “We reminisce first, then talk.”

  Zach picked up his notebook and pen, stood, and headed for the door.

  “Wait. Just fuckin’ with you. You come about a girl.”

  In a slow pivot, Zach turned to face him. Anything he could get might help solve the case. “What girl?”

  “The one in Omaha.”

  Goose bumps erupted on Zach’s arms. He retook his seat. “What about Omaha?�
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  “Got me a fan, don’tcha know.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “We just got a polite conversation goin’. Now you gone and jumped ahead.” Xav-D shook his head, clucked his tongue.

  “What do you know?”

  “Hmm…” Xav looked at the ceiling, as if searching his memory. “What’ll you give me?”

  No bargains. That was the rule in forensic psychiatry. But this wasn’t a case evaluation, and Zach was acting on behalf of the bureau. “What do you want?”

  “Outta admin seg.”

  Xav had been housed in solitary since his capture. Administrative segregation was for the worst of the worst: twenty-three hours a day in a five-by-nine cell and one hour of exercise in what amounted to a reinforced animal cage. The warden would never approve a transfer to the general population, regardless what Xav might or might not contribute to the Omaha case. “That’s up to the prison psychiatrist.”

  “Pshaw. Don’t like him.”

  No surprise there. “Did you order a killer in Omaha to go after a girl?”

  “I love girls. You know that.” Xav-D’s voice hit the basement register, and he licked his lips. “Tasty.”

  God knew that Xav-D killed the ones he loved. Zach fought back a grimace and waited.

  “I wanna see the file.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Then I can’t help.” The voice carried a clear menace.

  There must be a way to turn this around. “He’s like you,” Zach said. “He killed her and took her heart.”

  Xav’s face folded into a frown. “Ain’t no one like me.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “He’s mimicking you. He wants to be like you. Did you teach him, Xav? Tell him what to do?”

  “He ain’t me.” Xav opened his mouth and snapped it closed, biting the air as he held Zach’s gaze.

  “Okay. Who is he?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Enough. No way was he going to sit here and let Xav swear at him. Getting to his feet, Zach fought the urge to pull his damp shirt free of his chest. Nothing was going to come out of this.

  “Wait.”

  Zach set the pad on the table but remained standing. Maintaining a ready-to-leave posture might shake something loose.