by Misty Evans
The morning’s young.
Taylor was speaking to him on his cell, chirping in his ear. “There’s no need for you to come in.”
The walls weren’t the only thing watching him. “I think there is,” he said. The eyes of other early morning employees grabbing coffee and making small talk on their way to various offices and cubbyholes weighed heavy on him. By now, most had heard about his weekend activities and were no doubt wondering if he was innocent or guilty. “I want to look the good director in the eye when he tells me I’m suspended.”
Taylor’s voice held a note of pride, even if she disagreed. “That’s a terrible idea under the circumstances.”
Beck took refuge in the elevator and hit the button to the floor he needed. “Under the circumstances, you and I both know Lockhart should be on suspension, considering he’s a much more likely murder suspect than I am. I’m thinking of pressing charges against him for belting me at the station. Figured I’d tell him that in person when I hand over my service weapon.”
“Beck…” Her sigh was heavy. “You’re a good agent and everyone loves you. Hell, half the people in this building—men and women alike—want to make out with you, regardless of their sexual preference because you’re that flippin’ hot. And nice. This is an unfortunate blip in your life, but it’s not the end of your career.”
There was noise in the background and Taylor affected a more professional voice. “We’ll find the killer and bring him to justice. You’ll be back to work before you know it, but you need to be patient.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” The elevator dinged and let him off. “The rousing speech is a nice touch too. Rah, rah. But I’m coming in so save your breath.”
“Beck, I really don’t think you should do that.”
He opened her office door and swept in, a cup of her favorite chai tea in his hand. “Too late, I’m here.” He grinned and disconnected. “Who else is going to bring you tea, Tay?”
Her face fell and she stiffened, eyes darting across the way and then back to him. “Beck…uh, Agent Pearson. You’re here.”
He pushed the door aside and saw Director Lockhart looking out the single window in the office, hands tucked in the pockets of suit pants. “Hello, Beck,” he said without turning.
Tickticktick. The clock on the wall broke the awkward silence as Beck considered his options.
One, give Byron Lockhart a taste of his fist and let whatever happened happen.
Two, pretend the man didn’t get under his skin, and turn in his ID and weapon without a fuss.
Three, raise hell and let the Director know he was messing with the wrong man.
As if Taylor sensed Beck leaning toward option three, she jumped up from her chair and came around the desk. “This is an awkward situation, and I expect the two of you will handle it like civilized adult men, or I will make you both wish you hadn’t ventured into my office today, got it?”
Oh, Taylor. Acting so tough. She was skilled in hand-to-hand, and nasty with a weapon, but she probably wasn’t much more than 5’5” and a hundred and twenty pounds. No match for him, although he loved her for her gumption. Reminded him of another tough lady.
Beck patted Taylor’s shoulder and took two steps toward the window, covertly hitting the button on his phone for his microphone app. “You have something to say to me, Director Lockhart?”
The man swiveled to look Beck in the eye, hands still in his pockets. At least it appeared he wasn’t going to throw a punch this round. “You’re suspended, and unlike Agent Sinclair here, I know what you did. I know you killed my wife. It’s only a matter of time before you pay for it.”
Beck set his jaw and tapped his hand against his leg still considering Option Three.
“Beck…” Taylor warned.
Beck waved the phone in her direction, letting her know he wasn’t going to throw Lockhart out the window. “If you were anyone besides Director of the FBI, the cops would be all over you. Annabelle was your estranged wife and sounds to me like she was going to take you for a whole lot of money. You couldn’t let that happen, could you?”
Lockhart’s eyes narrowed. “The divorce papers weren’t finalized. We were getting back together. Until you murdered her.”
“Getting back together?” Beck smirked. “Is that why she was at the bachelor auction throwing a lot of money around to buy a date with me?”
Lockhart’s hands emerged from his pockets. “You asshole. She was helping the shelter, that’s all.”
“Three thousand dollars. That’s what she bid on me. Not too many people have that kind of fun money lying around. Was she still an investor in the Travathian Company? I hear you two made quite a killing investing in Dikko’s business. Helmets for US soldiers, right?”
Lockhart reddened and he fisted his hands. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
“Sure you do.” Beck sat on the edge of Taylor’s desk, pretending a casualness he didn’t feel. It wasn’t the first time he’d interrogated a suspect he knew was guilty. “You helped Dikko land those government contracts, didn’t you? And then you made millions off the stock when the time came to divest. Annabelle was there for the whole ride, and she knew you got Dikko in good with the DOD. She planned to take you to the cleaners, so you killed her, saving yourself a lot of money. And she took your secrets to the grave.”
Taylor stepped closer to Beck, giving Lockhart the side-eye. “Is this true?”
“Of course, it’s not,” Lockhart growled. “Not the way he’s making it out to be. There’s a lot more to the story, and none of it was illegal or unethical.”
Beck didn’t argue, but gave the man a hard look. “Ten million dollars is a lot of money. People have killed for less.”
A fist came up. Lockhart shook it at Beck. “I loved Annabelle and you took her away from me.”
Go ahead, take the punch. All I need is for you to throw the first one.
Because if Lockhart started a fight, this time Beck was going to end it. “You keep telling yourself that, Director, but we all know the truth. You worked long hours and neglected her in your quest to become the Bureau’s top dog. You did some underhanded wheeling and dealing along the way and she kept her mouth shut, but eventually, she wanted a warm body in her bed and you weren’t around. You were the typical DC cliché, married to the job, but she realized she had some power too, having been the keeper of your secrets for all these years. She decided to bail on you, and you weren’t about to let that happen.”
The fist lowered but Lockhart moved closer, his dull brown eyes full of righteous venom. “You don’t know anything about my marriage.”
Taylor inserted herself between the two of them. “Director, please step back. Beck, stop stirring the pot. We are not holding a trial in my office, and if you’d both get control of your egos, you’d realize neither one of you is the killer and you’re wasting precious time going at each other instead of figuring out who is.”
Lockhart paced away, rubbing a hand over his face, and Taylor turned on Beck, giving him a what the fuck look. He set his phone, app still recording, on her desk and motioned with his head for her to move aside. She rolled her eyes but stepped back far enough for him to see Lockhart again. “Why’d you leak the news about my suspension to the press?”
Lockhart barely glanced at him, his attention pinned to view outside the window again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Such a liar. “You and Taylor were the only ones who knew the suspension would happen first thing this morning, correct?”
“Yes,” Taylor answered. She swiveled to look at the Director. “Weren’t we?”
No answer.
Beck shook his head. “Taylor didn’t call the news station to announce it, so it must have been you.”
Taylor set hands on hips and glared at the Director. “You leaked Beck’s suspension to a news station?”
Staring outside helped Lockhart keep his emotions under control, but Beck saw the muscles
in his jaw working. “Any federal agent accused of murder is going to be suspended until the charges are dropped or the agent is found guilty,” he ground out. “It was a bygone conclusion that I’m sure the press jumped on.”
“You didn’t answer the question.” Taylor’s voice had gone flat.
“He doesn’t need to,” Beck said. “WJTA is running a story tonight about my suspension along with the dirty, scandalous news about my family’s criminal histories. I’ll give you one guess where Debra Johansen got her facts.”
“No.” Taylor marched over and stared at Lockhart. “You didn’t.”
She knew about Beck’s family and the history he’d fought so hard to overcome. Not everything, but most of it. Taylor always had his back and she’d been a good friend, helping him feel like he belonged on her team. Like he had family inside the Bureau’s walls. Some days, she was more of a sister to him than any of his blood relations.
But that illusion crashed down on him with full force. He couldn’t put her in this predicament, couldn’t rely on the Bureau for the sense of security and belonging he’d always craved. After all this time, after all of his dedication, that was gone.
Beck tossed his ID on Taylor’s desk and unstrapped his service weapon to lay next to it. “I thought you were better than that, Director. When you took your oath to this institution, I guess you didn’t mean it when it came to fidelity and integrity.”
Lockhart ground his jaw. “You’re relieved of duty, Pearson. Get out before I call security and have you escorted from the building.”
Pushing off Taylor’s desk, Beck faced the man and shut off the recording app. “I’m going to find Annabelle’s killer, with or without your help, but don’t be surprised if there’s some tit for tat with the press. Debra’s going to love hearing my theories about you and your estranged wife, and a copy of your tax returns, including those questionable investments, might suddenly turn up in her inbox.”
Lockhart’s head snapped around. He closed the distance, finger coming up to point at Beck. “You better be careful who you’re messing with, boy.”
Boy. He hadn’t been called that in a long time. His father often used the term, not like a normal father would with his son, but almost like a curse. A threat.
Tickticktick, the clock once again mocked the silence. Taylor didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but her eyes pleaded with Beck not to lose his cool.
The story of his life. Stay cool. Use your head. Don’t let emotions get in the way.
What good had it done him? Everything about his life had been turned ass-over-gridiron because of Byron Lockhart.
Daddy always said good guys never win.
Beck had tried to prove him wrong.
Looks like Daddy was right after all.
Anger fired low. He got right in Lockhart’s face, staring the man down. “You’re the one who messed with the wrong guy. You’ve ruined my career, my reputation, and you brought my family into this. In other words, you stepped in a big o’ pile of shit.”
Taylor’s hand landed on Beck’s arm, which he hadn’t even realized he’d lifted. He glanced down to see his hand curled in a fist.
Dropping it, he drew himself to full height. Lockhart took a step back.
“Don’t be surprised to see me when you look in your rearview.” He whirled and walked away before he wiped the floor with the man, but stopped in the doorway and gave Lockhart a cutthroat glare. “I’m gunning for you now, Director, and you’re gonna wish you never laid eyes on me.”
* * *
Jackie rode shotgun while Beck drove to Vienna, Virginia, a thirty minute ride from DC. Thirty minutes. For a meeting she’d been unaware of with people she didn’t know. Way to control a situation, girlfriend.
“Beck, honestly, what are we doing here? We don’t have time to screw around.”
He made a left onto a tree-lined street leading toward the center of town. “We’re not screwing around. My boss’s boyfriend is a PI.”
“I have a PI. A damned good one.”
Beck sighed. “I realize that. We need all hands on deck though. And Matt’s a good guy. Smart. He works for Schock Investigations.”
Wait. Schock? She knew that name. Odd and so recognizable. Jackie focused on the trees flying by her window while her mind ticked back.
“The cold case broads.”
Beck laughed. “Broads?”
“It’s Chessie speak. They’re the ones, right? One’s a sculptor and the other is a...what?”
“Forensic psychologist.”
Jackie snapped her fingers. “Yes!”
“Between Matt and the broads there’s not much they can’t accomplish. Taylor’s hands are tied but she talked to Matt about my case and they’ve offered to help.”
“Can you afford that?”
He took his eyes off the road, giving her a bored look. “Modeling was good to me.”
“I guess so. Maybe I should raise my hourly rate.”
“Maybe I should hire Fleming.”
Of all the lowdown, rotten things to say. “You little bastard, spilling that kind of filth in this car.”
Beck cracked up, his smile going full wattage and decimating the tension.
“Hey,” he said, “you started it. And Fleming is a good guy.”
“If you want someone to plead out, he’s the master. A great negotiator. When it comes to the war of trial work,” Jackie shook her head, “he’s a preschooler. Plus, we’re not pleading out. We’re winning this thing.”
Whatever it took, she’d clear Beck’s name. And then, maybe, they’d be in a place where she could have a conversation with him about a baby who never got a chance at life.
He reached over, squeezed her arm and the heat from his fingers sent sparks rocketing up her arm. Every damned time the man touched her, it seemed her clothes begged to vaporize. Even that first night. That wild spring break where Jackie the good girl broke her cardinal rule about not sleeping with strangers.
Beck had been different. Confident, nice, and...well...beautiful. Back then his body had been a work of art. From what she’d seen of his bare chest the night of his arrest, the rest probably still was. How any woman could resist him was way outside of Jackie’s intuitive boundaries. Then and now.
Except now, she’d learned the hard way that quick flings brought heartache. And each time she saw him she relived it. The lust, the happiness, the fun.
The guilt.
She had to tell him. Had to. Before, when he hated her and they barely spoke, it was easy to keep it to herself. So easy to justify. Now? Sitting in this car, alone with him, it wasn’t.
“Thank you,” he said.
Thank you? She’d lied to him by omission and he was thanking her?
She looked away, breaking the heavy eye contact for a view of a two-story historic house turned museum.
“Jackie?”
God, she didn’t want to talk. To face him. “You shouldn’t be thanking me.”
“My ass. You’re trying to keep me from life in prison. I’d say that requires a thanks.”
If he only knew. Another stream of silence lingered and she shifted closer to the door, bumping the frame. Nowhere to run. Stuck. She couldn’t hold the secret anymore and she sure as hell couldn’t run from it.
Damned Beck. He should have just stayed hating her.
Tell him.
He eased to a stop at a light and the tension rolled in again, thick and heavy and Jackie couldn’t look at him. Too much.
“Hey,” he said, “what’s going on with you? One second we were joking around and now you’re pissed. I was kidding about Fleming.”
Fleming. If only it was that easy. “It’s not about Fleming.”
“Then what?”
The light flashed green. Go signal. Tell him. Perfect opening.
A horn behind them sounded and he hit the gas. “Talk to me, Jackie.”
Yes. Talk to him.
His GPS blared to life. You have reached your destination…
They sure had.
Beck pulled to the curb in front of a one-story office building where a painted sign mounted next to the front door read Schock Investigations in fancy scroll lettering.
“This is it,” she said.
“Yeah.” Beck checked his phone. “Everyone is inside, but they can wait. What’s up?”
Panic built in her chest, robbing her air. She opened the door and inhaled, taking a long pull of fresh oxygen. How the hell did she tell a man he was almost a father? And that she’d kept it from him?
For twelve years.
She glanced at the building again. With all he faced and going into this meeting to discuss the murder charge against him, now sure wasn’t the time to clue him in.
She turned back, pinned a smile in place. “It’s nothing. We can discuss it later. Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”
“You sure?”
When it came to Beck, she wasn’t sure of anything. “Come on. Let’s see what these crack investigators of yours can do for us.”
He led Jackie through the front door of Schock Investigations where a receptionist sat at an oversized desk made of natural wood. A nice touch in an otherwise small room containing a red loveseat and a chair bursting with upholstered sunflowers. The place definitely had a woman’s touch.
“Hello,” the receptionist said to Beck. “May I help you?”
Her tone was cool but her gaze? Total man-eater. Jackie didn’t blame her. The vaporizing clothes theory. No sane woman could look at Beck and not want to ravage him.
“Beck Pearson and Jackie DelRay. Here to see Matt.”
“Yes, they’re all in the conference room.”
The woman rose from her chair, her eyes nearly searing Beck’s flesh as she waved him forward. Jackie’s gut churned and she fought the fit of jealousy. This is why she didn’t have relationships. She wasn’t even in one and she wanted to cut a bitch.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
Beck glanced back. “What?”
“Nothing. Thinking. Sorry.”
The receptionist knocked on the third door on the right and a man yelled for her to enter. She held the door for them making a little more extended eye contact with Beck as he marched by. To his credit, he simply nodded and turned his attention to the others in the room.
