Heated Beat 02 - Lucky Man (4 page)

“Like what?”

Danny shrugged and leaned against a lamppost, half an eye trained on the hollow faces around them, watching for lurking pimps and creeping cars. “Anything. Everything. Where’s Netty at? Haven’t seen her around for a while.”

“She went to Birmingham with her fella.” Lexi flicked her spent joint into the gutter. “Reckoned she was getting clean. Believe it when I see it.”

“Why would you see it if she got clean, eh? Not like she’d come back here, is it?”

Danny had Lexi there. The streets were no place for an ex-tom. If Netty really was clean, chances were neither of them would ever hear of her again.

If only. Danny knew of only one girl who’d escaped the life of hooking and junk, and she’d had a damned sight more going for her than any of the women he’d seen in recent months. “What about Jeanie? She still working this patch?”

Lexi spat on the ground. “You probably know better than me.”

“Try me.” Danny took another glance around. He was running out of time. Chatting Lexi up much longer would bring trouble for both of them. “What about Terry, Brandy, and Ebony? Anyone you haven’t seen for a while? Anyone you’re worried about?”

Lexi eyed Danny as sharply as her clouded gaze allowed. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Why not?” Danny pushed off the lamppost and started to turn away. “Do you still have my card?”

“Feeling lonely, DC Jones?”

“Do you have it or not?”

Lexi sighed. “Can’t blame a gal for trying, and yeah, I still have it, pinned to my bedroom wall.”

Danny chanced a rueful grin over his shoulder. “Good girl. Give me a call if your mates don’t show up, okay?”

He walked away without waiting for an answer. Lexi wouldn’t call him, but with any luck, she’d remember the conversation and take notice if the faces around her began to disappear. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

D
ANNY
WIPED
his sweaty palms on his jeans. He spent more time than he cared to admit parked up outside questionable establishments, but this was the first time in as long as he could remember he’d felt so damned fucking nervous.

Man up.
It’s just a bloody curry.

But was it? Really? Part of Danny hoped so, but then the other, louder side of him wanted it to be far more than
just
anything. Wanted… needed to know the magical thirty-six hours he’d spent with Finn McGovern had been real. Danny’s memories were enough to leave him breathless, but what if he was wrong? What if Finn wasn’t as hot or quietly charismatic as Danny remembered? Or worse? What if Finn’s beer goggles had been faulty too? What if Finn took one look at him sober and cringed?

Would serve you bloody right, daft idiot.

Danny got out of the car with a wry smirk. He hadn’t been on a date in years, and there was only one way to find out if Finn was as gorgeous as he remembered.

The curry house Finn had texted him directions to was in a dodgy part of the city, close to the motorway, but Danny was used to that, used to blending in with his trainers, worn jeans, and scruffy coat. He debated leaving the coat in the car, but it was too bloody cold for vanity. He pulled his collar up against the wind and looked up and down the street. There was no one about save a pisshead leaning on a phone box and a group of young lads loading a van.

He headed in the direction of the van. He got closer and saw the pavement stacked with guitar cases and half a drum kit. He thought of Finn—as if he wasn’t already—and wondered if they were part of the jam session he’d come from. As Danny passed them, a more southern accent than he was used to cut through the broad northern brogues.

“…good to see Finn smiling again, wasn’t it? It’s been too long, man….”

At least Danny thought that’s what he heard. By the time he was a few feet away, he felt less convinced. He glanced over his shoulder and the pavement was clear, the van door shut, leaving him no way of knowing who’d said it, if indeed anyone had said it at all.

Idiot.
He had Finn on the brain.
Finn brain.
Danny chuckled. Despite the churning nerves in his gut, he kind of liked the sound of that.

The all-night Indian café was quiet, as Finn had promised. Danny absorbed the steamy warmth and searched the booths. It didn’t take long to spot Finn’s shaggy blond hair, and Danny’s heart did a little flip. Damn. Finn McGovern
was
as gorgeous as Danny remembered, and more… head down, scribbling in a notebook, chewing his thumbnail, oblivious to Danny’s presence.

“You going in or what, mate?”

“Hmm?” Danny shook himself and sidestepped the grumpy old geezer and then wove his way through the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant to where Finn sat. “All right?”

Finn looked up and beamed, wide and warm. “Hey, you. Yeah, I’m all right. How are you?”

“Good, good.” Danny dropped into his seat, trying not to grin like an idiot. “Not sure about this place, though. Looks like it’s got rats.”

Finn’s mile-wide smile turned to a smirk as he stuffed his notebook into his guitar case. “You’ll see.”

A waiter came before Danny could reply. They ordered drinks and papadums. Danny asked for a lager and Finn another bottle of water to replace the empty one on the table.

“Are you driving?” Danny asked when the waiter was gone.

Finn shrugged. “I don’t drink much. It’s not good for me.”

“Bad for your voice?”

“Something like that.”

The waiter delivered a tray of papadums and pickles. Danny hadn’t looked at the menu, too busy gawping at Finn, so he ordered the first thing he saw along with a few side dishes.

Finn chuckled and added to their mammoth order. “Didn’t have you pegged for a madras kind of man.”

“Yeah?” Danny waited for the waiter to go. “What
did
you have me pegged for? A korma wimp?”

“Other way, actually. Thought you’d be a hotter-the-better bloke.”

A rude joke danced on Danny’s tongue until he remembered he was sober and out in public.

Out in public with a guy half the city probably recognizes….

Danny silenced the devil on his shoulder. “I lived behind a curry house at uni. Opened my eyes to a whole new world. I grew up on chop suey and cawl.”

And the rest. University had been Danny’s first real taste of sexual freedom. Something that felt a world away these days.

“Cawl?” Finn frowned. “I get the Chinese reference, your eyes give you away, but what’s the other shit?”

“Welsh. I was born in Cardiff. My mum did most of the cooking, but my dad used to make cawl on Saturdays. It’s like broth… Irish stew without the barley.”

Finn looked mystified. Danny let it go. “How was your jam? Was it a Lamps thing?”

“Nah.” Finn cracked a papadum in half. “I work as a session musician for a couple of bands. We’re hitting the recording studio next week, so we needed to touch base.”

“A session musician?” That caught Danny off guard. The Lamps were a big deal. They sold out every venue they played, especially up north. Danny had figured they had it made. “Thought you’d be making the big bucks by now.”

“I am, as much as I need to.” Finn’s gaze was steady, but Danny felt like he was missing something.

“So why do you play for other bands?”

“The Lamps don’t have a record deal. We’re independent.”

Danny swallowed a mouthful of warm lager. Blah. He hoped the food was better than the beer. “Hard to get signed?”

“Don’t want to get signed.” Finn stirred some DayGlo-pink coconut into an amber pool of mango chutney. “We’re happy as we are. None of us do it for the money.”

“Really?” Danny winced at his own skepticism, but it was too late to take it back, and by the flash in Finn’s gaze, he knew he’d struck a nerve. “So you work for yourselves?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We have a manager, but he works for us, not the other way around.”

Danny thought over the day he’d just spent with his DCI riding his arse for statistics that didn’t exist. “I like the sound of that.”

“It suits us.” Finn paused like he was weighing his words. “It suits us artistically because we can play whatever we want, whenever we want—surfer festivals, hippie communes, whatever—but it’s more than that. I’ve toured with big bands, and it sucks the life from you, you know? It’s all about the money, and I hate that.”

“Corporate machine, eh?”

“Exactly. I don’t need a soulless record contract to validate me. Jack got dicked on by a record company a few years ago. They took advantage of him because he didn’t know any better. I don’t want any fucker to have that power over me.”

Danny smiled. He couldn’t help it. Angry Finn was a sight to fucking behold. “Jack’s your drummer, right? And your housemate?”

“Yeah, when he’s not in the studio or smashing the clubs.” Finn relaxed, mollified by the change of subject. “He’s not around much, though. He works away a lot, and his boyfriend lives in Leeds.”

“Why don’t they live together?”

Finn shrugged. “I’ve been asking that for years. I think Jack would like it, but his fella’s got this thing in his head about Jack sowing his oats.”

The waiter interrupted them with the pakoras Finn had ordered to keep them going. Danny waited for him to leave. “Sowing his oats? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Jack’s only ever been with Will. I mean, he’s been with birds and stuff, but Will’s the only bloke.”

“So?”

Finn stuffed half a pakora in his mouth. “I know, right? But I think Will’s worried Jack hasn’t… I don’t know, explored his sexuality properly? They’re best mates, you see. They grew up together, and I reckon Will doesn’t want to be Jack’s easy option.”

“Sounds complicated.” And alien. Danny didn’t have any gay friends up north.

“It’s them.” Finn said. “I stay out of it.”

“You and Jack are close, though?” Danny had seen the photos scattered around the house Finn and Jack shared. Both tall and shaggy haired, they looked like brothers.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

Danny shrugged. “Sorry. Comes with the job.”

“Makes sense.” Finn leaned forward. “Like when you told me your job. I’d been trying to figure you out, then it all clicked into place.”

“I’m a copper, not MI5, mate.”

Finn sniggered. “I know, but you’re still pretty mysterious. Until I found your number on the fridge, I thought I’d never see you again.”

There wasn’t much Danny could say to that. He’d woken alone in Finn’s bed on Monday morning with the intention of calling a cab home and confining Finn to the back of his mind. A moment of madness had seen him slapping his contact card on Finn’s fridge. A moment of madness he couldn’t bring himself to regret. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to. It’s been a while since I—”

“Shagged someone more than once?”

Danny chuckled. “That obvious?”

“I know your type. You’re either a manwhore, married, or in the closet.” Finn sat back while the waiter cleared the table and set a heated plate stand down. When the waiter was gone, he leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “You’re too nice to be a slag and too good in bed to be married, so I’m figuring it’s the closet. Am I right?”

Danny felt his stomach turn over, perturbed he’d been read so easily. “You’re a little right. I’m not in the closet, but I’m not out at work.”

“And work comes first, so you live the rest of your life in secret.”

It wasn’t a question, and for the first time, the spark between them dimmed. Danny searched for the words to explain himself. “It’s not as absolute as you make it sound. My sex life isn’t relevant to my job.”

“Since when was being gay all about sex?”

“It isn’t, but coming out to my department is a ball ache I don’t need.”

The squeaky wheels of an old-fashioned waiter’s trolley gave Danny a reprieve. Soon the table was piled high with more food than Danny remembered ordering.

When the waiter was gone, Finn nudged Danny’s leg. “I’m not having a go—I just don’t get it. Why do you coppers get such a hard time for being queer? I thought times had changed.”

Danny shrugged. “What you read in the papers doesn’t relate much to reality. Half the blokes on my squad still call me a chink. Fuck knows what they’d say if they knew I was gay.”

“Does it matter? It’s only words, right?”

Danny suppressed a sigh. Finn had been on his mind all week, and never once had he pictured himself trying to explain the archaic mind-set of the police force. “It would be more subtle than just calling me a poofter. Like not answering the phone when I need backup, not passing on information I need for my cases or following up leads when I’m not around. Sounds like bollocks, but I’ve seen it happen before, and I can’t afford to let it happen to me. Not out there….” Danny trailed off as he realized he was about to say too much. What was it about this bloke that scrambled his verbal filter? “Anyway… yeah. It’s complicated. Maybe in a few years, if I make DS or something. Are we going to eat this shit or what?”

Danny had eaten with Finn enough to know how much he liked his food, and for the brief moments it took to fill their plates, Danny figured he’d shut the door on the copper conversation.

“So you’re on the vice squad? With all the hookers and shit?”

Or maybe not. Danny shoved a forkful of madras in his mouth and claimed a raggedy piece of naan before Finn ate it all. “Yeah. I started in London, then transferred up here eighteen months ago. But there’s more to it than prostitution, like gambling, narcotics, weapons.”

“Weapons? You mean, like, guns?”

Danny chuckled darkly. “Or machetes. We seized a house full of them this week.”

Finn was quiet a moment. Danny took his chance and changed the subject. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not playing? I can tell you’re a northern git, but you’re not a Nottingham lad, are you?”

“Nah, I grew up in Derby. My folks have a boarding kennel there.”

“Is that in the city?”

“No, Matlock. I don’t like big cities.”

Again with the crowds. Danny wondered if Finn’s dislike of the outside world had anything to do with his band’s decision to contain their success. “Dogs or cats?”