High Concept

by Whitley Gray

  * * * *

  On the way to the dry cleaner, Olivetti heard the report of the raid on the radio. Words like “quiet suburban neighborhood” and “suspect” and “contract killing.” Olivetti smiled. He’d done it. If the cops came sniffing, Levin would take the fall. The cops would never believe a campaign manager over a corporate magnate. With Riggs gone, the only one left was Zenobia, and she was as deep in this as Olivetti himself. Strange metaphorical bedfellows, but the plan worked. Perfect.

  * * * *

  The door to the conference room swung open. Beck looked up to see Van standing there holding a manila envelope.

  “Uh, hey,” Van muttered, gaze darting around the room.

  “What can I do for you, Detective Gates?”

  Waves of tension poured off Van. He closed the door, then tossed the packet on the table. “I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s this?” Beck reached for the envelope. “Information about the Stardust murder case?”

  “Preliminary forensics. Came to me by mistake.” The muscles in Van’s jaw stood out.

  Beck raised his eyebrows. Van could’ve had the tech bring it over.

  “I’m getting married.” Urgency lowered Van’s voice, made it sultry.

  Not news to me, pal. “So I heard.”

  A gamut of emotions crossed Van’s face. Surprise morphed to confusion and then to uncertainty. What had he expected? Gnashing of teeth? Tearing of garments? Beating of breast? For once, Beck held the advantage. No way he’d let Van off the hook on this one.

  After a few seconds Van came back with, “I want a normal life. A career.”

  Normal… So Van must have concluded normal men didn’t desire other men. Or the chances of promotion went up if he acquired a spouse. Typical Van. Deeper into the closet, into denial, into a fake life. Hiding wouldn’t change his wants and needs. Beck tapped a pencil on the table and waited.

  “I want you to know it’s got nothing to do with our previous acquaintance.”

  Considering their previous acquaintance ended months ago, this caught Beck by surprise, and he barked a laugh. “Sure.”

  “Don’t fuck this up for me.” Van threw a look over his shoulder at the closed door.

  “I won’t.” Beck arranged his face into neutral and extinguished the niggle of worry about the nuptials. Katie had something to lose, but the lie belonged to Van.

  “Okay.” With a fierce look, Van exited the room.

  If Van stayed true to form, he’d fuck it up all by himself.

  * * * *

  Beck stretched and took a look at the clock. Nearly midnight. A sleeping Zach lay half on top of him, one leg and arm thrown over Beck in unconscious possession, warm exhales blowing across Beck’s chest.

  It’d been one hell of a day: first the raid on Levin’s house, then slogging through the place and finding nothing. They’d indulged in useless speculation about where Levin had gone, whether he was dead somewhere. Van’s guilty visit had capped the day.

  With heavy snow in Minneapolis, Zach’s flight had been delayed twice, and Beck had wondered if Zach would make it back before morning. Watching Zach appear from the secure area of Denver International Airport tonight had been a huge relief. The twilight trip from the airport to home had seemed like an eternity. One kiss in the privacy of the parking structure hadn’t cut it. But now…

  The languid heat of satisfaction melted Beck’s limbs like beeswax in the sun. Orgasm had set him on fire, and the incandescence had now cooled to cozy warmth. That was why they called it afterglow. He couldn’t move if an entry team burst into his apartment. It had been months since Beck had been warm—really warm—through and through. Not just the heat from the body next to him, but the melting of the protective ice that had formed around his heart after the shooting. Zach had brought him out of emotional cold storage.

  There was no denying how well they came together, complemented each other, not just in bed, but beyond. The contrast between them, how opposite they were in some ways, somehow meshed to make something unique. Something lasting?

  He sifted his hand through Zach’s hair. What a pleasure, to have those silky strands to run his fingers through. Above Zach’s left ear, Beck encountered a small depression the size of a fingertip. Adjacent to this, a small bump and the smooth contour of bone beneath skin. With a gusty sigh, Zach shifted onto his back, taking his warmth with him. Beck rolled to his side, tucking one arm under his head to study Zach’s profile. Where were they going with this?

  There’d be time enough to discuss it later. Beck double-checked the alarm and clicked off the lamp and pulled the covers over them.

  * * * *

  “Think about it.” Clad in a T-shirt and briefs, Zach settled on a stool.

  In his Skivvies, Beck eyed him from across the counter. Morning sunlight streamed in the kitchen window, creating a warm wedge on the vinyl floor under Beck’s feet. This was the kind of conversation that required being upright and temptation out of sight.

  “You have no idea what’d happen if I came out.” Beck blew on his coffee and handed a fragrant cup across the counter to Zach.

  “I do. And you’ll get rid of hiding who you are.” Zach set down the cup and crossed his arms.

  When Beck had broached the subject of where they were headed with their relationship after the case ended, he’d anticipated a discussion about the mechanics of managing a long-distance relationship. Zach having the need for full disclosure hadn’t crossed his mind.

  Beck leaned on the counter. “Listen. A couple of years ago, a detective on the east coast came out. He got into a firefight with some robbery suspects and called for backup, but by the time a squad showed up twenty minutes later, the suspects were gone and the cop was dead.”

  “That’s not here, and that’s in the past. Being out isn’t the scarlet letter that it used to be. Most law enforcement organizations have a GBLT Officers’ Alliance for support. Hell, you’ve got one here. And I know for a fact other DPD cops have come out without a ripple in their jobs.”

  Beck snorted. “None of those cops work robbery/homicide.”

  “Still. Denver is a large metropolitan police department. Gay cops are out and doing their jobs, and most of their fellow officers couldn’t care less who those guys date.” Zach tapped his index finger on the island. “Their departments function just as well.”

  “Zach. It’s robbery/homicide. Wake up and smell the testosterone.” Beck glared across the counter. “Look how far Van is going to hide. No one will question him about his orientation now. No one.”

  “And he’s fucking up at least two lives by doing it.” Zach leaned forward. “I’ll be behind you.”

  Beck barked a laugh. “Literally?”

  Zach rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  So where did they go next? Beck opened his mouth, closed it. Zach lived in Minneapolis, a thousand miles away. It wasn’t like they could fly back and forth every weekend.

  If they couldn’t get past this issue, there might be no point in discussing the rest.

  * * * *

  Hell, how could Beck discuss tonight’s event and not spoil everything? Out of the frying pan and into the damn fire. Beck focused on the bathroom mirror, on knotting his tie. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Hmm?” From behind, Zach’s arms came around his waist, bringing along the mouthwatering scent of Zach’s aftershave.

  Damn it, this wasn’t the way he wanted to present it, after the night they’d had. Between the casework and Zach’s trip to see Dean, Beck hadn’t found a good time to bring it up, and now the ball was just hours away. Things hadn’t gone smoothly earlier when he’d tried to broach the subject of continuing their acquaintance beyond this case. And this was less likely to go well.

  Just do it. Don’t put it off any longer. “About tonight…”

  “Mmm?” Zach’s thumbs tucked into the waistband of Beck’s gray flannel pants. A warm kiss below his ear made him shiver.
For a second he paused, tempted to respond to the invitation. It seemed a shame to spoil the sweetness of the moment.

  Do it. “Don’t know if McManus mentioned to you that the Policeman’s Ball is tonight.”

  “Ah.” A sharp nip on the earlobe as Zach’s hands undid Beck’s belt and the button of his slacks. “Are you asking me to go with you?”

  The zipper descended. Beck grabbed Zach’s wrists. “I…I’m escorting Marybeth Halliday.”

  In the mirror, Zach’s eyes narrowed.

  “She’s Danny’s wife. His widow.” Beck buttoned his pants and tugged up the zipper.

  Zach pulled away. “She’s your date?”

  Pivoting, Beck caught Zach’s gaze. “No. Look, Danny’s getting a posthumous award. It’s going to be an emotional night. He was my partner. It’s my job to take her. You’re welcome to come with us.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not sure that’d be a good idea. She needs you there.” Zach paused. “Does she know about you?”

  Beck cocked his head. “Know what?”

  “Know you prefer men.”

  “No. Dan knew, but not Marybeth.”

  Zach raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure he didn’t tell her?”

  He looked at the floor. “I’m sure. She used to set me up on these surprise blind dates. Dan would invite me to dinner, and there’d be the flavor of the week. I just went along with it. Never dated any of them, but Marybeth kept right on inviting them.”

  “So she thought she’d find you the right girl, and you’d be ready to settle down.”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “And you never thought it’d be a good idea to set her straight?”

  God, what a minefield. First the department, now Marybeth. Did Zach expect him to take out a full-page announcement in The Denver Post? CLOSET DOOR OPENS: BECK STRYKER STEPS OUT, RISKS CAREER. Beck kept the frustration out of his voice and made an attempt at teasing. “How could I set her straight when I’m gay?”

  “You open your mouth and say, ‘Marybeth, I’m gay.’” Zach edged past him, out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, and Beck followed.

  “She doesn’t need to know. There’re no more dinners.”

  Zach paused, and his shoulders lifted as he sighed and shook his head. “It’s not about dinners.”

  “Then?” Playing oblivious might tick Zach off, but telling Marybeth… No.

  In slow motion, Zach turned around. The twin lines between his eyebrows weren’t a good sign. Before Beck could speak, the expression softened.

  “You said she sometimes gets closer than you’d like.” Zach stepped close and ran his hand down Beck’s arm and twined their fingers together. “If you’re comfortable with who you are, tell her. Chances are she’ll accept it. It’s an easy place to start.”

  To start? Hell. “I’m not comfortable with telling her.”

  “She deserves to know the truth.”

  “It’s not the right time.”

  “When is the right time?” Zach said softly. “If she’s truly your friend, she’ll understand. And she won’t hold out hope that you’ll ever be more than friends.”

  Hadn’t they just covered this an hour ago? Beck pulled his hand away. “I’m not telling her.”

  “You’re giving her mixed signals, Beck.”

  Restraining the urge to raise his voice, Beck said, “I’m not. She’s Danny’s wife, for chrissake.”

  Zach checked the safety on his SIG and holstered it before snapping the rig to his belt. Irritation leaked into his tone. “You’re leading her on.”

  The veiled accusation in that statement waved a red flag in front of Beck’s temper. “At least I don’t let an ex-boyfriend lead me around by the nose.”

  Zach whirled, snatched his duffel off the bed, and charged out of the room. A few seconds later a bone-rattling slam indicated Beck was alone.

  Damn it to hell. Were they doomed to fight about everything? Why couldn’t Zach let it go this one time? Beck sighed. The day was off to a spectacular start.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thirty minutes later Beck drove toward the precinct. Should be enough of a delay for Zach to get fully caffeinated and settled down. Chewing it over, Beck had to admit he’d acted like a jealous boyfriend, without the title to back it up. He’d shot off his mouth without considering the consequences. Damn it. Zach’d had every right to be pissed.

  Outside of Beck’s trysts, Danny had been the first one to know about Beck’s orientation. Dan and Marybeth had been a lot alike, and Beck had never heard her voice a negative opinion about gays. When Dan had found out about Beck’s hidden lifestyle last January, he’d said it didn’t matter.

  And it hadn’t. They’d continued their working relationship, settled in without the issue coming between them. It had made Beck feel that Danny would always have his back, no matter what.

  Stopping at a red light, he tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. Coming out at work was asking a lot. Lars Evans on the emergency response team had put up with verbal abuse, taken a lot of crap from other cops: a pink feather boa in his locker and plenty of snide comments meant to be overheard, like “faggot” and “fairy,” despite Evans being a former college linebacker. But most of the force seemed to accept him. A good cop was a good cop. They all bled blue.

  Would Beck get the same reception? And what about Van, who made negative comments against homosexuality despite his own orientation?

  Was Zach angling for more than the duration of this case? But they both had careers. And the way Zach had dropped everything for Dean… Fuck. Heat moved into Beck’s cheeks as the light turned green. He’d been a jerk, and he owed Zach an apology, but coming out was an irreversible step.

  How much could Beck risk for this fledgling relationship?

  * * * *

  Zach stole a look at Beck. Other than the minimum necessary to work the case, they’d had nothing to say to each other for the last eight hours. “Please pass the ketchup” at lunch didn’t count. Instead of talking, it’d been a day spent on forensic reports and catching up on what Zach’d missed while in Minneapolis. A day of fleeting eye contact, no brushing of fingers, and the silence of the symbolic closet between them. An awkward day.

  Beck ignored him as Zach shuffled through a stack of papers and made notes. The man’s profile resembled granite, set in a stony frown no friendlier than the average brick wall. Yep, John B. Stryker was an immovable rock when it came to the topic of coming out. Zach reached for his cold coffee. This morning’s aborted discussion left room for doubt about whether they could make this thing work.

  Apologize.

  Why should he make the apology? After all, Beck had made the crack about Dean. Knowing it came from insecurity about where Beck stood with Zach didn’t make it right. If he was honest with himself, he’d pushed Beck too hard.

  Pushed? More like shoved.

  “Beck—”

  “Gotta go.” Beck shoved the reports into the box on the table and stood. “Need some time to get ready for tonight. Okay to have you lock up here?” Polite but distant. The kind of inflection that meant “We’re strangers.”

  No. Not okay. The words congealed into a lump in his throat. “Uh, sure.”

  “Thanks.” A muscle jumped in Beck’s jaw as he pulled on the left sleeve of his trench coat. “I’ll see you at…” His Adam’s apple traveled up, then down. “I’ll see you.”

  Ninety percent sure that Beck needed to settle this standoff as much as he did, Zach stood and automatically reached out before doubt made him clutch the edge of the box instead. Try again. Say sorry. But what came out was, “See you.”

  Beck nodded and strode through the door.

  For a moment, Zach considered going after him. One of them had to end the standoff. With a sigh he began closing up for the night. Maybe he should get his stuff from Beck’s and leave the spare key on the kitchen counter.

  * * * *

  “Give me the keys, honey.”

  Marybeth
dug the fob out of her purse and handed them over with a jingle and a sniff, blotting her face with his handkerchief.

  With a grimace, Beck juggled the plaque and took the keys. Moonlight glinted off the engraved brass plate. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “Okay.” Fresh tears welled; fat drops ran down her cheeks.

  Aw hell. Why did they have to give the Community Service Award in front of the entire department? Beck shook his head. A citation for dying in the line of duty—shit. The wounds were still raw, and the enormity of Dan’s sacrifice had hit Beck and Marybeth hard. The word “posthumous” triggered the start of Marybeth’s tears. They spilled over as soon as the plaque hit her hands, continued when she’d nodded her thanks and proceeded off the stage. Beck’s throat had tightened as he’d scrambled to meet her at the steps, his heart aching with a mixture of anger and grief.

  They hadn’t stayed for dessert.

  The damn key didn’t fit the lock, and he groaned. His breath froze in a white cloud as he sorted the keys. Winter had taken a bite of October. There’d be frost by morning. The weather threatened snow by Halloween.

  The next key didn’t work. Two more to go. Thank God the boys were at Marybeth’s mother’s house. She could use some time alone to let down the strong facade she put up every day for the kids.

  Marybeth shivered and pulled her wrap around her shoulders. “It’s the gold one.”

  Beck nodded. All the keys were gold. The next one slid in, responded to a twist with a click of tumblers. Finally. He pushed the lever, and the door swung open. “Here we go.”

  “Thanks.” Sorrow trembled through the word. Marybeth took a shaky breath and stepped inside.

  As soon as he got her settled, he’d leave her to her grief. Beck followed her in and closed the door, setting the plaque facedown on the narrow table in the foyer. The house had the familiar scent of cinnamon and forced air heat. As the warmth thawed his skin, the tips of his nose and fingers tingled.

  “How about a drink?” Marybeth’s eyebrows angled up.

  God, she looked sad. But the last thing he wanted was a cocktail, and she’d had enough alcohol at the event.

  “Nothing in the house, remember?” He softened the words with a smile and a squeeze to her shoulder.