Cold-Hearted Concept

by Whitley Gray

  * * * *

  It was a gorgeous morning, all sparkling sunlight and soft breezes. Humming to himself, Zach made coffee while an apron-clad Beck fixed pancakes. A small TV on the counter was tuned to the news. The scene was all very domestic.

  “Sexy apron there, Detective,” Zach said.

  Beck glanced down at the plain white cover wrapped around his waist and gave a wry grin. “Batter is kind of messy.”

  “Ah. No breakfast meat?”

  “Irresistible as that opening is, I’m gonna pass.”

  Zach laughed. They’d both been grinning like idiots since their “morning constitutional,” as Beck put it. To Zach’s relief, Beck seemed more relaxed than he’d been since Zach had arrived. Maybe he’d finally started to believe Zach was in it for the long haul.

  Beck piled pancakes on plates and carried them to the table. They went through the routine of butter and syrup.

  “Are you working today?” Zach forked in a mouthful. Good.

  Beck licked syrup off his fork in a lascivious manner. “I need to take care of a few things, but no emergencies. What did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing in particular. It’s beautiful outside. Maybe we could look into plants for the window boxes.”

  “Window boxes?”

  Zach tilted his head. “Yeah. Did you never look at the front of the house?”

  “Not closely.” Beck flashed a sheepish grin.

  “Trust me, they’re out there.” Zach took a bite of pancakes.

  Bzzz…

  “That your phone?” Beck nodded at the kitchen counter.

  Bzzz…

  “Yeah.” Zach retrieved the cell and checked the screen. Text from unknown number. He opened the message.

  A gift for you.

  The four words were followed by DD Lat and Long with a series of numbers.

  GPS coordinates. A cold certainty filled his chest. The Follower had used GPS to notify Omaha PD about Perny. Jesus. Had the killer left a body for Zach to discover? They had to get on top of this—

  Bzzz…

  Another message, this time a picture. Swallowing, Zach opened the photo.

  A red paper heart lay on what looked like a hardwood floor. On the paper was,

  Your heart will be mine soon, Dr. Littman. Soon.

  Zach’s pulse thudded. Was he to be the next victim? Or the final victim? It sounded too much like Xavier Darling.

  “Never had me a man’s heart. Gonna fuck you, then kill you.”

  Xav-D was in Supermax. The messages weren’t from Xav, but they sure as hell sounded like him.

  “Zach? What’s going on?”

  It was all he could do to shake his head.

  “You’re pale. You need to sit.” A strong arm wrapped around his waist. Beck steered him to a chair. “Open your eyes.”

  Zach complied. He leaned his forearms on his thighs and stared at the floor. Beck’s bare feet appeared in Zach’s field of vision.

  “Are you going to pass out?” Beck asked.

  “No.” Zach took a shaky breath and blew it out. He’d seen dozens of bodies during his tenure with the FBI, including grotesque mutilation. Now the photo of a paper heart made him anxious?

  It’s not a paper heart; it’s a death threat.

  “Don’t move.” Beck brought a glass of water. “Drink.”

  The cool water tasted good. It helped.

  Beck took a seat, bringing his shower-clean scent. He palmed Zach’s knees. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Not really. “It’s a message from the Follower. Two messages, actually.”

  “Christ. What is it?”

  Zach pulled up the first text and handed the device to Beck, who read it and frowned.

  “Where do you think these coordinates are?” Beck passed the phone back. “Omaha?”

  “I doubt it. If it’s not a hoax, I think it’ll be somewhere close by.” It’s not a hoax. No way could there be a coincidence of this magnitude. Zach brought up the photo. A chill went down his spine. Wordlessly he handed the phone to Beck.

  “It’s similar to the other ones. He’s still baiting you.” Beck set the device on the table and pulled out his own phone. “Read me those numbers, and I’ll plug them into Google Maps.”

  Zach rattled off the strings of digits.

  Beck studied the screen and frowned. “It’s local.”

  “Do you recognize the address?”

  “Maybe.” Beck’s eyes were dark with concern. “I’m going to call it in and ask for a welfare check.”

  Zach’s gut tightened. “So it’s a residence.”

  Beck was already speaking with the desk sergeant, tone urgent as he requested a patrol car be sent to check things out.

  How long would it take to get a pair of uniforms to the location? Someone might be dead or dying. They were wasting time sitting here.

  Beck hung up. “I need to go.”

  “Wait. Where do the GPS coordinates go?”

  “Perny’s place.”

  * * * *

  The house appeared unchanged, a genteel lady falling into disrepair. The windows reflected the blue of the sky. Beck noted a female patrol officer on the porch, hands cupped against a window. Her partner wasn’t in sight.

  The last thing Beck had wanted to do today was check out the Follower’s latest handiwork, but no way in hell Zach was taking a look by himself. On the sidewalk, Beck said, “Stay here.”

  “No way.” Zach’s voice held a challenge.

  Stubborn idiot. “We don’t know what’s going on. You can’t go charging up there.”

  “It’s unlikely he’d try something in broad daylight. And I doubt he believes I’d come here alone after what he’s already done.”

  “I don’t know what he believes. But I do know he’s dangerous.” God only knew what the maniac had left inside for Zach. Beck adjusted the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. “Look. I’m going to talk to the uniforms and see what’s up.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Zach—”

  “Either that or I’m going inside. Your choice.”

  Damn it to hell and back. “Fine. Come along.”

  The officer on the porch came down to meet them. Her name tag read Vifquain.

  Beck asked, “What did you find?”

  “No one answers. Doors are locked. Couldn’t see anything through the main-floor windows.” She jerked her head. “Spath is checking out the fire escape.”

  “Is he wearing gloves?” Zach asked.

  Beck shot him a warning look.

  “It’s a welfare check.” Vifquain gave Zach a doubtful glance. “We haven’t been inside.”

  A latte-skinned officer appeared from around the side of the house. He flashed a brilliant smile. “Fire escape leads to a door on the second floor, which is locked. The steps continue to a third floor door, also bolted. From up there I could see into one of the second-floor apartments. Looks like there might have been some kind of a struggle.”

  A struggle, or the mess left by the search of Perny’s apartment? “Did you see anyone?”

  “No.”

  No avoiding entry. Beck could see the curiosity of the patrol officers. “Look. We have a tip there may be someone in trouble inside the house.”

  “So we need to break in?” That was Vifquain.

  “Yes. Call for another unit for backup.” Beck glanced at Zach, who was practically vibrating with intensity.

  Vifquain tilted her head. “Sir?”

  “Just do it.” Beck turned to Zach. “Let’s go.”

  Beck marched up the porch steps and inspected the door. It looked solid. The frame likewise appeared to be sturdy. Maybe the lock would give.

  “Maybe I can kick it,” Spath said.

  Certainly sounded better than Beck putting his shoulder into it. “Give it a try.”

  One smack of Spath’s extralarge boot was all it took. The foyer was overwarm and full of the smell of disuse, with a sharper undertone—one that
hadn’t been there on the last visit. The building was eerily silent.

  “Upstairs.” Beck unsnapped his holster. He told Zach, “Stay on my six.”

  “Got it.”

  “You want us to follow?” Spath asked.

  “Stay here.” Beck didn’t want anyone else upstairs until he’d gotten the lay of the land.

  As Beck and the others climbed, the treads squeaked in complaint. The second-floor landing looked the same. The door to apartment five looked the same. The scent was different. Beck closed his eyes. He’d know that heinous odor anywhere. Fuck.

  “Gloves,” Zach said. In the pale field of his face, his eyes reflected the sorrow of too much experience with death.

  Beck gloved up, pulled the Glock, and then tried the door. The knob turned easily, hinges silent as the grave. Hot air puffed out, coppery and thick. The mess they’d left after the search appeared undisturbed. Beck pointed Zach to the right; he went left, clearing the room.

  Bathroom next. Empty, including behind the shower curtain of the old claw-foot tub.

  The bedroom door was closed. Moment of truth. Beck took a breath and opened the door. A low hum filled the air.

  Oh God.

  The bed had been tipped on its side and pushed against the wall. The girl lay in the middle of the room, naked, held down by four-point leather restraints screwed into the floor. Clotted pools of black blood surrounded her. The blood seemed to move.

  Botflies. Beck shuddered.

  Zach muttered, “Fuck,” and moved forward.

  Beck grabbed him. “Crime scene. We can’t go in.”

  “I…I think I know her.” Zach’s voice held regret mixed with anger.

  Aw, shit. “Who?”

  “India.” Zach swallowed hard. “The girl who lived downstairs in three.”

  “Jesus. The one you were talking to on the porch?”

  “Yeah.” Zach tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “He could have been watching me.”

  “This is all on him. You know that.” Beck gripped Zach’s forearm. Beneath Beck’s hand, Zach went rigid.

  “Beck. The ceiling.”

  Slowly he raised his gaze. Horrified, he stared at cracked plaster. Oh, fuck.

  In slashes of blood, the Follower had written, Hello, Dr. Littman. Welcome to the game.

  * * * *

  Zach leaned against the hood of Beck’s car and watched the investigative circus. Red-and-blue lights flashed on half a dozen patrol cars. Miles of canary-yellow tape cordoned off the house. Crime-scene techs trooped in and out. The honeysuckle climbing the porch posts seemed innocently out of place.

  The ME’s van had departed. Neighbors stood in groups, murmuring and gesturing. Some held drinks or smoked. It was…morbid. Not that Zach hadn’t seen such behavior before, but he’d never had prior acquaintance with a murder victim.

  The Follower could be watching. Zach discreetly inspected the audience and took a few pictures with his phone. No loners, no one definitely out of place. But this guy was organized and intelligent. He wouldn’t stand out.

  Patrol officers began their canvass, interrupting the neighborly discussions. There was arm-crossing and frowning and shaking of heads. What were the chances someone had seen something meaningful?

  Hello, Dr. Littman. Welcome to the game.

  He wasn’t a victim or an investigator. “Person of interest” might be the best description.

  Earlier he’d given his statement to Gates. After the debriefing, Van had headed inside, and Zach resumed leaning on the car, where he’d been for the past thirty minutes.

  Beck appeared on the porch, carrying a clear plastic bag. He spoke briefly to an officer holding a clipboard and then headed Zach’s way. Beck stopped at the crime-scene tape and beckoned Zach over.

  “How’re you doing?” Beck’s voice was soft and sympathetic. Not his cop voice, to Zach’s relief.

  “Okay.”

  “Feel up to looking at some evidence?”

  “I can.”

  “Come on in.” Beck lifted the yellow barrier, and Zach ducked under, coming up close to him. The officer on the porch pursed his lips and looked away.

  Yeah, we’re together. Get over it.

  Beck presented the plastic bag. Inside was a red paper heart. “Is this the same as the photo?”

  “It looks like it.” It reminded Zach of the ones Xav had favored before he’d been moved to Supermax. He suppressed a shiver. “Where was it?”

  “By her head. They’ll need a copy of your photo.”

  “Sure.” At least he could contribute something to the investigation. “Did you search her apartment?”

  “That’s next on the agenda. Need to figure out next of kin.”

  “She mentioned two roommates and a brother.” The notification would be horrible. He stopped himself before he offered to come along. Not on the case, Littman.

  “You want to take the car and go home? I’ll catch a ride later.”

  Zach mustered a smile. “Sure you don’t need me?”

  “Of course I need you.” Beck squeezed Zach’s arm. “I’ll always need you. Go ahead and take off. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay.”

  Beck leaned in near Zach’s ear. “Be careful out there.”

  I love you too. “Same for you.”

  Beck’s cheek creased in a smile; he headed back inside the house. The crime-scene tape fluttered, snapping in the breeze. The officer with the clipboard gave Zach a stony look.

  Home. He ducked under the yellow ribbon, climbed inside the car, and gripped the steering wheel.

  The Follower wants me here.

  Ridiculous to consider what that maniac wanted. If I play, maybe he won’t take another victim for a while.

  Or the sociopath might accelerate. But how was Zach supposed to play?

  Go home, Littman.

  Sighing, he started the car and headed for home.

  * * * *

  Beck stared out the passenger window of the patrol car, not seeing the neighborhoods slide by. It had been after three o’clock in the afternoon by the time they’d finished with the crime scene and sealed the building.

  Murder was an unpleasant business. Murder of an innocent under these circumstances left Beck with a knot in his gut and vengeance in his heart.

  If the Follower had fixated on Zach because of his tenure with the FBI, the bureau deserved to know what was going on. Maybe they could help catch this asshole and help keep Zach safe. Would Zach be better off in the employ of the FBI while this case was active? Would it pull Zach back to Minneapolis?

  Beck closed his eyes. Zach wanted this relationship just as much as Beck. He’d given up his job as a profiler, moved cross-country, and made a valiant attempt to prioritize their relationship.

  What have I sacrificed? Nothing.

  It was time to look at how hard all this was on Zach instead of Beck wallowing in his own concerns.

  “We’re here, sir.”

  Beck opened his eyes. Home. After a hasty thank-you, he unfolded from the car, went inside via the side entrance into the kitchen.

  Quiet. The house felt cool and unoccupied. A glass on the counter held down a note:

  Beck—

  Went to the store. Your car keys are in the usual spot.

  Z

  At this point Beck had enough time to grab a shower and a snack before heading downtown and diving into paperwork. Dinner wasn’t in the cards. With the hubbub, he hadn’t gotten time to call Zach. He pulled out his phone and sent a text.

  Just got home. Have to leave shortly.

  Beck’s phone buzzed with a reply.

  On my way. ETA 10 min.

  Long enough for a shower. Beck texted:

  See you then.

  * * * *

  Zach set the groceries on the counter. Water was running in the master bath. No surprise there. Zach had showered off the stink of Perny’s place as soon as he got home.

  Dinner plans had been optimistic. Beck would ha
ve to work tonight; they wouldn’t see each other much until the case cooled off. Dinner alone. Sleeping alone. Sitting home alone while Beck went off to slay dragons.

  Zach had a vested interest in the current dragon.

  No more playing knight in shining armor, Littman. You’re just a garden-variety psychiatrist with an uncertain future.

  The bags crinkled as Zach pulled out fresh strawberries, salad, and chicken thighs; these he stowed in the fridge. The mango-salsa ingredients he left on the counter along with bakery-fresh cookies. Everything would keep until tomorrow.

  If Beck made it home then for dinner.

  The water turned off. Zach carried two chilled bottles of iced tea to the bedroom.

  Beck stood with his back to the bedroom door, clad in black boxer briefs and toweling his hair one-handed. The scars on his left shoulder stood out in dark pink relief.

  “Hey.” Zach entered the room. “Are you sore?”

  Beck shrugged. “Nah. You holding up okay?”

  “Me? I’m fine.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah.” Zach held out a bottle. “You’re going back?”

  “I have to.” Beck accepted the tea. “I’ll have to take a rain check on dinner.”

  “Have you eaten since breakfast?”

  “No. My appetite’s pretty much on hiatus after that mess. Know what I mean?”

  Yeah, Zach knew that hollow-nearly-nauseated feeling well. Hard to eat with visions of gore flashing through the mind. “Could you manage something light? Just to keep your energy up?”

  Beck tossed the towel on the bed. “Like what?”

  “Smoothie with fresh banana.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  “I’ll fix it. You get dressed.” Zach dragged his gaze from Beck’s hair to his toes.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “That look. You know what I mean.”

  Zach grinned and headed for the kitchen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The conference room was wall-to-wall detectives and recruited patrol officers. Energy crackled in the air. Beck sipped bitter department coffee, waiting for SJ to address the troops. He’d briefed everyone and handed out assignments. As soon as the boss had a word, they’d move out.

  SJ marched in, wearing jeans and a button-front shirt and carrying bistro coffee. The room came to attention.