High Concept

by Whitley Gray

  A little squeak that might have been “okay” came from her. Tears poured down Marybeth’s cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands.

  Hell. He couldn’t leave her like this. Maybe a cup of coffee would get her calmed down. He pulled her into his arms. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’ll be okay. Shh.”

  With Danny gone, it might never be okay. Sobs shook through her, dampening his shirt. Hesitantly he patted her back, and the crying subsided to hiccups. Okay, the storm seemed to be letting up. Marybeth took a shuddering breath and slid her hands up to his shoulders. Soft breasts pressed against him.

  Whoa. Now this was getting uncomfortable. “Uh, Marybeth?”

  Before he could retreat, her hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. The move caught him by surprise, and for a moment he didn’t resist. The mouth-on-mouth contact hit him like a hammer, knocking him into reality. He pulled away.

  “Stop, Marybeth.”

  “Please.”

  “No.” The word came out with an unintended edge.

  Her face crumpled, and she turned away.

  Fuck. “Marybeth. That’s not going to help. And I couldn’t do that”—to Zach—“to Danny. To his memory.”

  No answer.

  What would work? “I’m sorry.”

  Silence. The rigid line of her back made it hard to talk, but how the hell could he walk away like this? “Please, honey. I know you miss him. I miss him too. But I can’t.”

  “No, it’s me who should be sorry.” She sniffed and turned, but didn’t make eye contact.

  “Look, let me make some coffee, and we’ll talk.”

  Before he’d finished the sentence, she shook her head. “No, Beck.”

  No? What did she mean? “Why not?”

  Her gaze swung past his. “I need some time to think. You’ve been so kind to us—”

  Beck’s jaw dropped. “Kind? You think I was just being kind? I care about you and the boys. And I promised Dan—” Shit. Why couldn’t he shut up?

  She fixed him with a sharp gaze. “Promised him what?”

  “That I’d look after you and the kids.” As Dan lay dying, for chrissake. The room shimmered, and the bullet struck Dan in the neck, spinning him. Crimson sprayed in a slow-motion wave. Beck dug his fingernails into his palms, and the sting pulled the room into sharp focus.

  “I— Okay.” Marybeth took a deep breath and walked to the door. “Thanks for taking me tonight.”

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  Marybeth’s chin came up. “No. I’m fine.”

  Was she fine or just kicking him out? Beck narrowed his eyes. “Sure?”

  “Really. I’m fine.” A tight smile.

  Please don’t drink after I leave. He pulled open the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Okay.”

  Pausing on the threshold, he studied her face. “Are we good?”

  “Yeah. We’re good.” This time the smile seemed genuine. “Good night, Beck.”

  “Good night, Marybeth.” He stepped off the porch, and the door clicked closed behind him.

  He headed for the driveway. He’d texted Zach earlier, got no response. All night, the social event had kept Beck’s mind off whether he had a boyfriend to come home to. He slid into the car and started the motor. Time to find out.

  * * * *

  Beck let himself into the apartment. Nothing but dark and quiet. Zach’s coat wasn’t draped over the couch, and his briefcase wasn’t on the table. Fuck. The way they’d left it—the way Beck had left it—wasn’t right. He’d had all day to apologize, rehearsed the words in his head, but every time he’d opened his mouth, he’d drawn a blank. Between dinner and the presentation, he’d sent a one-word text:

  Sorry.

  There hadn’t been a response. Judging by the lack of personal items in the living room, Zach had decided not to stay. With a sigh Beck locked the dead bolt and tossed his overcoat and suit jacket on the couch. Hope made him pause at the bedroom door and squeeze his eyes shut. Please. He opened his eyes and peeked around the corner.

  In a whoosh, he blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d held.

  Moonlight picked out the contours of Zach’s shoulders and back, highlighting muscle contours in cool silver light. The sheets had pooled around his waist, and Zach had flung one arm across Beck’s side of the bed. Instinct urged him to strip down and jump in, but he made himself go through his bedtime routine before sliding between the sheets. Zach had rolled on his side, facing away, and Beck kissed his ear, getting only a small hum in reply. He draped an arm over Zach and settled skin to skin.

  Thank God.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “The crime lab sent preliminaries on the car.” Beck waved a sheaf of papers.

  “What’ve you got?” Zach leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. Over the course of the morning, he and Beck had reread every page in the murder books, hoping for a nuance that revealed the crucial connection they needed. Lunch had been deli delivery at the desk, and chances were good they’d work straight through until the case was solved. With the way the case was heating up, they’d be lucky to spend any time alone for the next few days.

  “A shitload of fingerprints on the outside. Two dozen or more sets. Some belong to Weaver, some to Riggs. The good news is there are fingerprints from both of them inside the car, so we can place them in the vehicle.”

  Zach nodded. “Anything from trace?”

  “Some of the fibers are a match to the carpet at Olivetti’s. They’re checking to see if any of the vacuumed samples from the crime scenes match the Pinto’s carpet.” Beck grinned. “But the kicker is DNA. Traces of blood from all three shooting victims.”

  “Looks like it’s shaping up on that end.” Zach couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice. “Any progress on who hired the killings?”

  “That’s the bad news. It’s back to the tips that came in after the home invasions.” Beck plunked down in a chair. “I know we’ve got nothing concrete, but I think we have to consider someone besides Levin as the one who contracted the killers.”

  The answer was close; Zach could feel it. Some connection just below the surface of conscious thought. He drummed his fingers on the table. “What would be the motive?”

  “Same as we’ve already discussed. Revenge. Sabotaging the campaign.”

  “How do you tie the Greers into that? I can’t see any common revenge motive, and killing the Greers wouldn’t affect the campaign unless Olivetti was accused. And we know Olivetti couldn’t have done it.” He sighed.

  “Something wrong?”

  Too many things. Sands would yank him out of Denver and send him back to Omaha, or to Quantico or Timbuktu. Wherever killers wreaked havoc and law enforcement wanted assistance. Who knew when he’d get to see Beck? Zach couldn’t very well ask him to move to Minneapolis, especially with the unpredictable schedule dictated by the profiling unit. A brilliant career with the FBI Behavioral Science Unit: see the world and vaporize your relationships.

  Focus on the case. Discuss this later.

  “Look. You’re hunting a suspect who hired out four murders. A totally different animal than Riggs or Weaver. We’ve got no crime scene directly involving this guy.”

  “We’ve got tips. A lot of tips.”

  “Besides that, we’re pending more forensics and Riggs’s army records, right?

  “Nothing yet on Riggs, not that it’ll make a difference now. And chasing down all that malarkey about Olivetti’s college roommate was a colossal waste of time.” Beck sprawled in a chair.

  “What’d they have to say?”

  Beck flipped open the three-ring binder. “The cops said the roommate committed suicide. No sign of foul play. The university’s policy is to move the surviving student to a private room. They excused Olivetti from finals and awarded straight As.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The next semester Olivetti moved into a fraternity a
nd met Tim Miller of the billionaire Millers. Miller Senior backed Olivetti’s first business. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Miller.” Zach ran a thumb along the side of his coffee cup. “Any point in checking out the frat brothers?”

  Beck shook his head. “Can’t see any reason, at least not now.”

  “So tips.”

  “Tips.” Beck leaned forward. “I have to take a break late this afternoon to take care of something personal.”

  Zach held his gaze. Was Beck going to come out to his boss? Nodding, Zach tapped a pen on the table. “Not a problem.”

  * * * *

  This place had gotten way too familiar. Beck let his gaze rove over the walls of Jay’s office, over the Selby with its open window.

  “How’re things going with Dr. Littman?” Jay asked.

  “There are two problems.” Sweat broke out on his back. Two big hairy fucking problems.

  Still peering over the lenses, Jay nodded. “Okay. Let’s start with the bigger one.”

  Beck looked away. How could he say he’d fallen in love with someone he barely knew? A shrink would conclude he’d substituted Zach for the failed relationship with Van. Wouldn’t he?

  “Beck.” Jay had taken off his glasses. He ran a hand over his hair. “Don’t make me break out the thumbscrews.” There was no chastisement in the tone. A hint of fatigue flowed through the words. Hearing other people’s problems all day would wear anyone out.

  Time to fess up the reason for this visit. Beck straightened in the chair and took a deep breath. “It’s about Zach.”

  A faint crease formed between Jay’s eyes. “Last we talked, you and Zach were at loggerheads.”

  With the case. Beck hadn’t filled Jay in about the burgeoning romance, the disagreements. All fresh information to parse out in the psychological spotlight. God, it was hot in here. Beck cleared his throat. “Well, the logjam gave way.”

  Eyebrows lifting, Jay shifted in the chair. “What happened?”

  “The case requires long hours, and the tension kind of melted away.”

  “Like friends?”

  “No.” Beck studied the carpet. Why couldn’t he just spit it out? Jay wouldn’t judge; he’d listen. Hell, he listened for a living. At some point, their discussions had transitioned beyond the doctor-patient relationship, and they’d also become friends. Right now, Beck needed friendly advice more than a psychologist. “We went out to dinner and then coffee. Zach drinks a lot of coffee.”

  Silence. The clock on Jay’s shelf ticked off the seconds.

  Damn clock. Jay’s face remained impassive, gave away nothing while he waited. Might as well get it over with.

  “It just happened. In the parking lot, he kissed me.” The memory had him closing his eyes: the heat, the pressure, the taste. “He started it.”

  A laugh came from Jay, and Beck’s eyes popped open.

  “What’s funny?”

  “You sound like a little kid. ‘He started it.’” Another chuckle and Jay shook his head. “Okay. And then?”

  “We’d gone out to do some fieldwork and nearly got shot.”

  Jay gaped at him. “Shot?”

  “It’s a long story. No one got hurt. Afterward, we were keyed up. We went to his efficiency and”—fucked?—“got intimate.”

  Jay’s eyebrows approached his hairline. “Sex.”

  “Yeah.” A rush of heat hit Beck’s cheeks. Damn it, there was no reason for embarrassment. Not like he was a teenager confessing to a parent. “The thing is, we were good the next day. Not one of those awkward morning-after scenarios. Not just a one-and-done thing.” The rest came spilling out. “And we’ve pretty much spent every minute together since, between work and…sleep.”

  “Not a casual thing, then.” Jay chewed on the bow of his glasses.

  “I escorted Marybeth to the ball, and that caused some tension.”

  “Is he worried about competition?”

  “No.” Beck grimaced and then explained Zach’s position on Beck coming out. “I disagree with him. Strongly disagree.”

  “Are you planning to continue this beyond Zach’s time here in Denver?”

  “I want to. I think he wants that too, but we haven’t discussed it.”

  Jay leaned forward. “You’ll have to work it out if you want to be together. It may come down to a choice between keeping your secret or keeping Zach.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He pressed his hands together.

  “All right. What about problem number two?”

  God. Did he have the right to discuss this? It wasn’t his issue.

  You promised Danny.

  Clenching his fists, Beck fought the need to jump up and pace. “It’s about Dan’s widow. Marybeth.”

  Jay tapped his index finger on his cheek, crossed his legs, and waited.

  “She’s— I think she’s drinking. Too much. I mean, not like an alcoholic or anything, but I found bottles in the garbage.”

  The finger stilled against Jay’s jaw. “Can you tell me more?”

  “She…she misses Danny.” Sweat bloomed on his back. Focus.

  Silence and a nod from Jay.

  “Then one afternoon, I stopped by while the boys were at her mom’s.” How could he betray Marybeth like this? Guilt and determination warred in his stomach.

  “Go on.”

  “Marybeth… She was drunk. On the bathroom floor, crying. She quit working when Dan died; now she’s behind on the mortgage and other expenses, and the car broke down.” Tipping his head back, he looked at the ceiling. The memory of her on the tile, so at odds with the brave face she’d put on after Danny’s death. Shit. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Beck.” The no-nonsense tone grabbed his attention.

  Opening his eyes, Beck waited for the verdict.

  “I know you care about Marybeth, and you’ve been a tremendous support to her after the shooting, but this is too big an issue for you to deal with. She needs professional help.”

  “I can help with the expenses.”

  “That’s between you and Marybeth. But the drinking is a different matter. Small kids are involved, and you can’t be there full-time. I can give her a call on behalf of the department, see how’s she’s doing, and try to get her in to talk to me.” A shadow crossed Jay’s face. “I can make a referral.”

  Beck’s throat tightened, and he swallowed against the stricture. “The boys just lost their dad. They can’t lose her too.”

  “I think we can do it in such a way to work with the situation,” Jay said.

  “I hope so.”

  * * * *

  “Let’s get a hotel.” Zach laid out the suggestion over an early dinner that evening.

  With eyes the same soft gray as the silk of his tie, Beck gazed across the table, fork paused midlift. “Why?”

  “A little luxury.” Truth be known, Zach wanted to celebrate. So far Beck hadn’t mentioned his “meeting” this afternoon, but he must’ve used the time to come out to McManus. Judging by Beck’s current mood, it’d gone well. None of the other diners paid them any attention in this high-backed booth, but Beck might not want to discuss it over dinner. “And a hot tub sounds good.”

  Beck narrowed his eyes. “A hot tub.”

  “A private hot tub.”

  Beck chuckled and shook his head. “We still have checks on the governor’s campaign contributors, plus tips to run down, forensics results…”

  “Can’t call people this late about tips, and the forensic techs aren’t going to be up all night looking at carpet fibers.”

  A slow grin started at one corner of Beck’s mouth and spread across his face. “Got any place in mind?”

  “South. A place close to the highway. Private rooms, private hot tubs. Fifteen minutes from DPD.” Zach speared a bite of salad drenched in dressing. “How’d your meeting go?”

  Beck’s expression shuttered. “Fine.”

  Had McManus not taken the news well? Beck had seemed happy until Zach brought
up the subject. “What did McManus say?”

  Beck’s eyebrows drew together. “About what?”

  With a soft ching, Zach set his fork on his salad plate. “Didn’t you…tell him?”

  “No.” Beck leaned back but didn’t offer more.

  Zach hid his surprise. So who had Beck met with? Did it matter? The point was, they were still at an impasse about this issue, and Zach wasn’t going to hide. “Look—”

  “Wait.” Beck made white-knuckled fists and pressed them together on the tabletop. “I’ve done some thinking, and…” Beck swallowed and dropped his gaze to the table. “I want this thing between us to last longer than this case.”

  “Me too.”

  “Yeah?” Beck glanced up, eyes pleading.

  Everything in Zach said reach out and cover those clenched hands, but instead he settled for a nod and waited.

  “I’ve decided to tell Marybeth. But I need some time before I tell anyone at work.”

  It was obvious what this concession was costing Beck. For now, Zach could live with that small gesture. Palm down, he slid one hand halfway across the table. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Beck unfisted one hand and flexed, kept his eyes on his fingers as he brushed Zach’s knuckles and squeezed his hand. Oh my God. Public affection. Zach held his breath as he flipped his hand over beneath Beck’s and stroked his thumb along Beck’s wrist.

  “I’ll tell her tonight. Then maybe we can go somewhere. Try out the hot tub.”

  “Tell you what.” Zach resisted the urge to lift Beck’s hand and bring it to his lips. “After work, I’ll check in with Sands and meet you at your place. We can decide then about the hotel.”

  Beck grinned. “And the hot tub.”

  * * * *

  At home, Beck took ibuprofen and a hot shower. The thought of telling Marybeth made him shudder as he wandered into the bedroom. Was this the right decision? He sat on the edge of the mattress and ran his hands along the duvet. Soft and comfortable for whatever he and Zach might get up to. Picture the possibilities.

  Assuming they ever made it out of the bedroom, he had food and beer in the fridge, plenty of shower products in the bathroom, and in the nightstand, a supply of…supplies. All he had to do was pack a bag in case they opted for a hotel instead of here. After selecting a casual shirt and jeans, he dressed and grabbed a duffel bag. An extra T-shirt, swim trunks…