Chapter 15
Bidding his mother goodbye felt like betrayal.
He wasn’t going anywhere. Not really. Yet, here he was, pretending to be heading to the airport, his mother’s tearful expression begging him to stay.
This, more than any other moment in his life, reminded him of when he’d enlisted and she—along with his father—had dropped him off at the bus station.
She’d been a teary-eyed mess then too. Unable to comprehend why her youngest child would do such a thing as enlist in the Canadian military when he had the actual world at his feet.
Fuck, Beckett hadn’t even had the “paying my way through college” excuse, since attending college in Canada wasn’t nearly as expensive as it was in the US.
She’d hugged him like she would never see him again, and he’d forced himself out of her arms, breaking her heart for the first time.
He didn’t break her heart this time—it was already shattered into a million pieces.
“It’ll be alright,” he repeated several times as she kissed his cheeks.
“Of course,” she replied shakily in between sobs.
She was still angry with him for what he’d said at the funeral—but not as pissed off as Jackson, who’d outright refused to bid him goodbye beyond a simple nod and a begrudgingly muttered “I love you.” Beckett was pretty sure he’d gotten those parting words only because Franklin had recently passed away, which reminded the entire family of how fragile life was.
“You boys come back soon,” Cynthia said, as she finally peeled herself away from him, shooting Hayes a stern look.
“Of course,” Hayes agreed with a placating smile. Hayes wasn’t a bad liar per se, but he certainly didn’t look comfortable.
They left a few minutes later after packing their belongings—two duffel bags—into the SUV, loading up Nickel and his three bags stuffed with his “essentials” and hit the road.
They had to return their rental car to make it look as if they were leaving Montreal.
Matthew had promised to have a car waiting for them in the car rental lot.
It turned out to be a huge black sedan that looked like a cross between a hearse and a limo.
It screamed “I-know-a-guy-who-knows-a-guy,” but apparently people didn’t bother to hide connections to the Mafia anymore.
Beckett popped the trunk before he got anywhere near the driver’s side—just in case there was a dead body lying in wait—or maybe a horse’s head. Who the hell knew, right?
“You’re driving?” Hayes asked, not surprised, just uncertain.
Beckett gave a sharp nod and got in. He’d hardly driven since learning of his brother’s death, except for the time they drove home from the police station.
In general, Hayes had driving duty, which gave Beckett time to think and grieve.
But Beckett wasn’t grieving anymore. Franklin was alive, and all he needed to do was bail his ass out of this FBI dog and pony show. Easy enough, right?
After leaving the car rental lot, they enjoyed a comfortable silence before the nagging thoughts bouncing around in Beckett’s head became too much to keep inside. He had to share them with Hayes if he had any hope of remaining sane.
“There’s no way our testimonies are going to be worth a shit,” Beckett remarked, because while he’d agreed to go along with this ridiculous plan of Matthew’s, he had zero faith in it working out for them. The damned thing had more holes in it than a block of Swiss cheese.
“Of course not,” Hayes said, in total agreement.
“Even if by some miracle Mario Rosario confessed to human trafficking while we were in the room—any lawyer worth two cents would figure out a way to discredit us on the witness stand. Wouldn’t even be that hard.
We’ve been arrested twice in the past year. ”
This was an excellent summary of the key points running through Beckett’s mind.
“I only agreed to Matthew’s piece of shit plan because I intend on doing some snooping every chance I get. Anything to get this case moving along so we can go home. And it beats sitting on my hands and fucking waiting for the FBI to do its job.”
“Of course,” Hayes replied calmly.
“So why are you going along with it?” Beckett asked, suddenly wondering why his partner was so noticeably docile. Not that Hayes wasn’t used to going along with his batshit crazy plans by now, but still—
“Because Matthew isn’t stupid enough to believe his own plan either and I’m—curious as to why he’s going through with this.”
Beckett snorted. “Only problem is—we’re both shit at solving things.”
“I don’t know—we figured out who was gunning for me and Chase last September,” Hayes refuted, wearing that sexy, teasing smile Beckett loved so much.
“Yeah—and you still got shot.”
“Well, that just added to the suspense and excitement of the case,” Hayes rationalized, like it was no big deal.
“Alright, so—we pretend to be Matthew’s henchmen while we try to uncover the plot for ourselves?”
“And do our best to avoid getting shot,” Hayes added, only half joking.
“Right, I’ll put that at the top of the to-do list,” he said with a laugh.
The roads were packed at this hour, and the traffic was slow, so Beckett took the opportunity to turn to Hayes at the next red light to lean in for a quick peck.
“You deserve better than me,” he said, the sentiment slipping out with little conscious thought. “But I’m not selfish enough to push you away.”
“I’d shoot you if you tried,” Hayes vowed, reaching to lace his fingers with Beckett’s and squeezing firmly to emphasize his sincerity.
When Beckett had demanded they stay someplace other than Matthew’s loft, he’d assumed they’d be heading to the place he’d showed them earlier, which was at the Rose Complex.
Instead, the address they were given was for a condominium building near the Old Port.
He followed the GPS instructions exactly, but still came damned close to getting lost at least three times while navigating his way through multiple construction zones.
Finally, they pulled into a small, underground parking garage that was situated along the waterfront.
It was a little—unnerving, if he was honest. Mafia plus deep water equaled the stuff of nightmares.
As his car door slammed shut, he nearly jumped out of his skin when the sound echoed loudly around the parking garage.
“You sure we have the right address?” Beckett asked Hayes as he pulled their duffel bags from the car.
Hayes nodded as Beckett handed off the bags.
Beckett carefully lifted Nickel from the backseat and cradled him in his arms. The dog whined twice before settling happily in his arms. Beckett had rigged his shoulder holster with an extra strap and part of an old t-shirt to create a pouch, and he tucked Nickel into it.
It had been his mother’s idea, and Nickel settled into it with a doggy sigh with his furry little head poking out above the fabric.
“You look ridiculous,” Hayes said, rolling his eyes as he watched him adjust the makeshift doggy pouch.
“Funny, but I think you mispronounced handsome and rugged when you said that,” Beckett said, shooting him a grin as he grabbed the bag of Nickel’s belongings they would need while staying there.
They’d narrowed down the list of his belongings to make them fit into one bag of real essentials. The rest could stay in the car for now.
“Donovan and Hughes?” a feminine voice called out to them. They spun like tops—both of them reaching for their firearms but stilling as they came to face with a perky redhead wearing an amused expression.
“Trigger happy, are we? Well, that’s good,” she remarked with a nod of approval. “Mr. Rosario is waiting for you upstairs. I’m Amanda, his assistant,” she introduced herself, stepping closer and extending her hand, giving each of them a brief handshake.
She spared Nickel a single glance of confusion before she looked up at Beckett expectantly.
“He doesn’t look like much but he’s a trained attack dog. Saw battle and everything. Even medaled twice in tug-of-war,” Beckett said, maintaining a deadly serious expression the whole time.
She paused to consider him and Nickel, then sighed, looking discouraged more than amused. Perhaps Matthew had sprung the news on her about them shortly before their arrival, and she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that he’d made plans without her knowledge.
He wondered what Matthew might have told her that would make her suspicious of them, but she twirled around and gestured for them to follow without another word.
“Common on. Duty awaits,” Beckett muttered as he hitched Nickel’s bag higher on his shoulder and they trailed after her.
The condo was neat, expensive, and boring, boring, and yes, boring.
The other place he’d shown them had a bit of warmth and love.
The art had complemented every room. The decor had been carefully chosen to maintain a natural flow from room to room.
Here, everything was right angles, grey, and bland.
Like someone had sucked the soul right out of the place. Ugh.
“Jeez—it’s got a lot of straight lines for a gay man’s place,” Beckett observed, frowning as he looked around.
Of course, its God-awful open floorplan made it absolutely impossible to hide anywhere in the main living area.
Beckett had some appreciation for the design, but he mostly hated it.
He needed corners—nooks and crannies—to hide in when the world became a bit much.
The only exception to the openness was the master bedroom, which had a wall of large windows and a small, closed-off space immediately to the left of the door.
“Tell me our bed’s in there,” Beckett said, jutting his thumb out towards it.
“Indeed it is. Will you gentlemen be alright sharing a room?” Matthew asked, strolling out of the kitchen looking like a classic villain in a James Bond film in his black satin robe.