Chapter 22
They’d agreed to meet back at the condo, and since Matthew had been in a hurry to get back there, he’d taken the car.
Hayes and Beckett shared a cab, strangely silent on the short ride home.
After being dropped off next to the underground parking garage, Beckett turned to him.
He grabbed Hayes’ hand, and lifted it, feeling a sudden urge to check if—
“I moved it back while we were in the taxi,” Hayes said.
Beckett felt a mild pang of disappointment that the ring was back on Hayes’ pinky. It was ridiculous, of course.
“It doesn’t count as a real proposal,” Hayes said, clearing the air.
“No, of course not—you’d want a big diamond—ya big diva!” Beckett scoffed and laughed, disguising his gut reaction of disappointment and dismay that he didn’t fully understand.
“Absolutely not—you’re the one who’s mentioned a big rock several times now,” Hayes pointed out, as they walked side-by-side towards the elevator.
“Ah—so you do listen to all my dumb ideas,” Beckett said, like he’d caught Hayes red-handed.
“We’re not getting engaged because of a job,” Hayes said, far more serious than Beckett had anticipated.
“We’re getting engaged?” Beckett responded, the words slipping out without his permission.
Hayes stopped and pulled Beckett around to face him.
“It doesn’t matter to me. Either, or—neither, nor. I made up my mind long ago that I’d die by your side.”
Beckett couldn’t hold his gaze. So intensely dark. Navy eyes bore into his own and made him feel naked and defenseless. Not a comfortable feeling, at all.
“But we are definitely not getting engaged because of a job—and certainly not one involving a mob boss,” Hayes said with a slight smile.
Beckett coughed in an effort to ease the tightness in his throat. For a single moment he’d pictured it—Hayes at his side, swearing oaths to each other in front of people they—mostly Beckett—loved. Something inside him came alive. Something he’d never really considered before.
“Noted—His Majesty wants an honest-to-God, theatrically staged proposal with doves, champagne, and violinists,” Beckett acknowledged and bowed deeply.
“If that’s what you got out of all that, then sure!” Hayes laughed, knowing full well that Beckett had heard and understood exactly what he meant.
They’d set up Adeline with a temporary office in the middle of the living room.
She had two screens hooked up to the laptop she’d brought along with her, and was hard at work combing through information when they walked in.
Unsurprisingly, Nickel was perched in her lap.
He looked up as they entered, even gave them a little yip of welcome, but then spun around, made himself comfortable again and went straight back to sleep.
“Has anyone checked to see if that dog is actually alive, and not just—some kind of robot?” Beckett asked.
He was a bit miffed that he’d shared his goddamned bed with the furball for days, had rescued it from starvation in his brother’s condo, but it’s allegiance had switched as soon as Adeline had come into the picture.
Beckett had been nothing more than a warm chest. He felt used, frankly.
Matthew was pacing the length of the living room, holding a glass of brandy in one hand, and biting the nails of the other.
“Enjoy your dinner?” he asked. Despite his being riddled with nerves, he had a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
“Greatly,” Beckett said, showing most of his pearly whites as he smiled with extreme satisfaction. “Waiter said you were footing the bill, so I ordered one of everything—even doubled down on the caviar.”
“I’m impressed you didn’t find it too refined for your rather pedestrian palate,” Matthew replied jeeringly.
Hayes snickered in surprise. He quickly transformed his expression back into a stern mask when Beckett shot him a look of betrayal.
“Some people should exchange their Chapstick for Krazy Glue—” he warned Matthew with a growl, before returning his attention to Adeline. “Found anything interesting?” Beckett asked, gesturing towards her computer screen in an effort to steer the conversation back to the business at hand.
“She hasn’t. I, on the other hand, have found at least three possible venues for your big day!” Placing his hands over his heart, Matthew batted his eyelashes at them.
“I’d invite you to sit on it and spin, but you’d enjoy that,” Beckett said, giving Matthew the finger.
The mob boss had the nerve to nod agreeably.
“If you ladies are done,” Adeline said, spinning around in her office chair like a Bond villain while petting Nickel. It should have been a white Persian, but Nickel would do.
“Tell me you have something good,” Beckett implored.
Her grimace was far from encouraging.
“I have the information you asked for—I’m just not sure it’ll give you the results you were expecting.”
“In what sense?”
Adeline gestured towards one of the screens, and they all gathered around her to look at it.
“According to John’s files, there are no apartments with tenants who don’t also pay rent or haven’t purchased the condo directly. There are several rented in your uncle’s name, however.”
“My uncle is listed as the tenant?” Matthew said, sounding surprised.
“Absolutely,” she said. She pressed a button that narrowed down the list on the screen to eight different properties.
“Why would he do that?” Matthew asked, confused. “If he’s using those places to house the victims—and it got out—it would lead directly to him.”
“Right, Mafia 101—always use an alias,” Beckett said.
“To be fair—” Hayes said, shrugging, “he has a point. It’s a little like moving a dead body in a rental car and leaving your ID behind when you turn in the car.”
“Rookie mistake you’ve made before?” Beckett asked his boyfriend teasingly.
Hayes ignored him.
“Alright—well, whatever the reason for his doing that—that’s where we start, right? We check on those addresses. Make sure we’re on the right track?” Hayes looked over at Matthew for his input.
Matthew shrugged and hesitantly said, “I guess.”
“There’s more,” Adeline stated before they could start plotting their coup. “It’s not really what you asked for—but it stood out to me. See, John is also the new building manager of a wellness center outside of town—”
“A wellness center? Like a gym?” Hayes asked.
Adeline shook her head.
“No, it’s more like a rehab center for people with lots of money. I looked it up. It offers lots of different services. Hypnosis, narcotic rehab, AA meetings—”
“Private counselling,” Matthew finished for her. Suddenly, he looked sick and closed his eyes as if in pain.
“Oh-kayyy,” Beckett said, not fully understanding the implications. But Hayes’ horrified expression told him this was bad news.
Adeline turned to one of her screens and pointed to a recent post on the center’s social media platform.
It is with deep sorrow that we announce the death of one of our dear colleagues.
Dr. Franklin Thérault was an esteemed practitioner who always had the well-being of his patients at heart.
He provided wonderful refuge for so many souls over the course of his career and we are truly heartbroken to learn of his passing—
Beckett stopped reading. There was no point. His brother wasn’t dead.
“Wait—you’re saying Mario Rosario bought the center where you had counseling?” Hayes asked Matthew. “It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, it certainly can’t be.”
“So—” Beckett began.
“So, I suppose that means my uncle is onto me,” Matthew admitted with a heavy sigh.
Hayes raised his hands in a placating gesture.
“Aren’t we jumping to conclusions a bit? I mean—we’re really thinking your uncle bought the wellness center where you were getting counselling to—spy on you?” Hayes asked.
“Well—why else?” Matthew exclaimed.
“What advantage would owning the center give him? Certainly, medical information is still protected—how would he even get access to the files?” Hayes argued, shaking his head.
“Pretty boy has a point,” Adeline said, pointing at Hayes.
“John has access to very little apart from the building plans and the current ‘tenants.’ The center’s director might have access to information on the practitioners, but certainly not to their patients’ files.
Usually, centers that offer a multitude of services like this one frequently rely on third party vendors to manage data.
There are quite a few individual practitioners under one roof.
Owning the building would not give him access to private medical information. ”
“Then why buy it?” Beckett asked.
Hayes gave a vague shrug and sighed.
“Far be it for me to pretend to know the inner workings of an eccentric millionaire,” Hayes admitted.
“Maybe—easier access for his own medical treatments. I’m no expert, but considering the amount of cosmetic work he’s had done on his face—wouldn’t he need frequent injections and procedures on a regular basis? ”
“Perhaps he found owning the wellness center to be an easier solution than having to rent out a medical suite every time,” Matthew agreed, looking somewhat relieved at the possibility that this was Mario’s sole motivation.
“Building a multimillion-dollar property is easier than renting a medical suite?” Beckett asked in disbelief. “I will never understand the richy-rich,” he sighed disconsolately.
Hayes chuckled and wrapped an arm around his waist. It was a remarkably affectionate gesture under these circumstances. Hayes wasn’t usually so demonstrative in front of others. As if he’d just read Beckett’s mind, he even pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Alright—so, what now? We go knocking on those doors to figure out who’s living in the apartments under your uncle’s name?” Beckett asked the group at large.
“In the absence of a more worthwhile suggestion, I suppose so, yes,” Matthew said with a shrug.
“Guess you might get to wear a fake mustache after all,” Hayes observed. “Too many cameras for us to go walking around questioning tenants without a disguise.”