Page 49

Oh.

Well.

This round went to Beau. The FBI was usually brought in for specialized assistance, like profiling, forensics, or handling cases that crossed jurisdictions. The actual “solving” of a homicide would usually be handled by the lead investigative body—typically local law enforcement. It just happened that an interjurisdictional homicide had never fallen under Archie’s purview.

Archie said tersely, “What’s your point?”

“My point? My point is…” Beau broke off. He seemed genuinely at a loss. “What are you talking about? Why are you arguing? You know you can’t be involved in this investigation. Even if you were okay—and you know you’re not okay.”

Archie’s eyes narrowed. “You worry about you, Beau.”

“I am worried about me,” Beau said. “You’re either going to get yourself killed or you’re going to fuck up my case. And neither is going to be good for my career.”

Archie snorted. “I haven’t fucked up anyone’s case—or career—yet.”

“I’d hate to be your first.”

Their eyes met for a moment—pale blue to dark blue—and inexplicably, and sure as hell inappropriately, Archie suddenly remembered all the ways in which Beau had been his first.

Why? Why would that come to mind?

The odd thing was that he was pretty sure that tiny flicker in the back Beau’s gaze meant he’d had the same exact uncomfortable recollection.

Beau stared down at Archie, shook his head, and to Archie’s astonishment, sat beside him on the bed, his shoulder bumping Archie’s. After a moment, he said, “What are you doing. A.? You know I could wreck you.”

Yes. Archie knew.

Beau said quietly, “And you know I’m not going to. Why are you trying to go to war with me?”

Archie’s eyes raised, he met Beau’s serious gaze, and his throat clamped tight in a rush of fierce emotion.

Maybe Beau saw some of that emotion in his eyes because he turned his profile to Archie and stared down at his boots. He said finally, quietly, “Listen. I liked John. I respected him. And I’m going to do everything I can to get justice for him. That’s the first thing. The second thing is—whatever happened in the past, I don’t want to see you...come to grief. Not like this.” Beau exhaled. “Not in any way. Not really. And that’s sure as hell not what John would have wanted.”

Archie expelled a long, unsteady breath. He did not look at Beau. Could not look at Beau.

Why was he getting so choked up? He didn’t want harm to come to Beau, either. Never had. Never would. Was this news to either of them?

Neither spoke for a very long minute.

Beau said finally, gruffly, “I’m going to offer you a deal.”

Archie stared down at his hands tightly gripping his Levi-clad knees. His knuckles were white. So, yes, safe to say, he was not okay. He was not…himself.

Beau waited for Archie to answer. When Archie said nothing, Beau said, “If you’ll lay low for a few days, I’ll share the case file on John’s homicide with you.”

Archie raised his head to stare at Beau’s profile. “Why?”

Beau turned to face him. They were so close. So close. And for an instant Archie could see the old Beau, the boy Beau, in the man beside him, like the original work beneath a layer of hardened varnish. Those long black eyelashes, though there were faint lines around Beau’s eyes now. The once cartoonishly perfect curve of Beau’s lips, harder, less smiley. The scattered silver threads in the black crest of Beau’s dark hair. He gazed into Beau’s blue eyes, and Beau gazed back at him, as though they were both considering, comparing past and present.

Beau smelled the same though. Still using the same soap, shampoo, and aftershave. What was that aftershave called? Police or something. The name had entertained the heck out of Archie way back when.

Archie turned his face, stared across at the cheery yellow wall of closed drapes.

Beau’s tone was a little rueful as he answered. “Because, though I hate to admit it, you’re right. You’re a valuable resource. At the least, you’re an experienced investigator, and as you’ve noticed, I have a shortage of those. It could be helpful having you take a look.”

He’d been an experienced investigator that morning, too. And on Sunday. When the mere suggestion of wanting to help had been met with a hard and hostile, No thanks.

“Now that you’ve decided I didn’t kill John?” Archie’s smile was acerbic.