Heated Beat 02 - Lucky Man (7 page)

Danny drove back to the station and retrieved his perp. His phone beeped in his pocket as they waited their turn with the desk sergeant. He ignored it, knowing it was Finn, but he couldn’t ignore the flutter in his chest. He and Finn had been texting nonstop since Danny had spent an uncomfortable night on Finn’s couch, watching Finn sleep, squeezing his hand, tracing the ink on his fingers….

Fuck’s sake.

Danny gave himself an internal shake. Finn had still been out of it the following morning. Danny hadn’t had time to go back, and it was hard to tell over text if Finn was back to his normal self, or at least what Danny perceived as normal. Despite their run of heavy conversations, in reality they still hardly new each other.

Didn’t stop him grinning like a bloody idiot every time Finn’s name flashed up on the screen.

It was four hours later, and eight o’clock in the morning, before Danny read the message.

Enough small talk. I want to see you again… soon.

Danny debated calling Finn straight back, but he knew from their lighter conversations that Finn wasn’t an early riser. Instead he drove home, took a much-needed shower, and decamped to the sofa with tea and toast to wait for the clock to tick by to a more godly hour.

Finn’s call woke him sometime later. Danny fumbled for his phone and squinted at the screen. His head ached and his eyes felt scratchy and raw from his overnight shift, but Finn’s grinning Facebook photo brought Danny awake in a hazy rush of anticipation. “Hey, stranger.”

Finn chuckled. “Hope you don’t mean that literally.”

“Not at all.” Danny stretched the kinks out of his neck. “How’s tricks?”

Danny threw out the casual question with little thought, absent and automatic. He expected Finn’s answer to be in the same vein, so he was surprised when Finn cut to the chase.

“Better. Listen, I’m sorry you had to see that…. Shit, actually, I’m not sorry. It’s my reality and I’m not ashamed of it, but if I’d had my way, you wouldn’t have seen it so soon.”

Danny blinked a few times and focused on the clock at the bottom of the news channel. Damn. This was a heavy conversation for 10:00 a.m. “I didn’t mind.”

“I did…. At least I do now. Didn’t mind much at the time. Can’t remember most of it.”

“No?” Danny switched the TV off. “Probably not much to remember, then.”

Finn snorted, but it sounded resigned. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.”

“Pretend what?”

“That it didn’t happen… that I wasn’t bumbling around like a fucking basket case. I know what I’m like when I’ve had that jab. I got Jack to video me once.”

“Really? Why did you do that?”

“I was curious,” Finn said. “And scared. I don’t like gaps in my head. I felt better when I’d seen why they were there with my own eyes.”

Finn’s candor made Danny’s chest ache. Finn was so brave and matter-of-fact in the face of a condition that must be terrifying. “There wasn’t much to see the other night. We talked, ate, and fell asleep.”

“Nice try.” Finn sounded amused, but when he spoke again, Danny felt the air shift. “You don’t have to do this, Danny. I’m a big boy, and I can take it if you don’t want to deal with my bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

“I know, I’m just crap with words. Whatever—just hear me out. Being a schizophrenic is a bloody ball ache, and I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away. If it’s too much, we need to knock this shit on the head now… right now. I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Danny pressed gently.

Finn sighed. “Never mind. Just think about it, okay? I’m not the easiest bloke to be with sometimes.”

“Neither am I.” Danny got up and walked to the window. “I work long hours—day and night—and my last boyfriend said I was an emotional cripple.”

“Yeah? When did he say that?”

Danny counted back in time. “Six years ago, maybe? It’s been so long I can’t remember.”

Finn was silent a moment. Danny wondered what he was thinking, wondered if perhaps his get-out clause for Danny was a double bluff. Maybe
Finn
was the one who wanted to bail.

Danny stared at his reflection in the window. Two days of stubble. Hair on end. He looked like hell and suddenly felt reckless. It was time to put his cards on the table. “Listen, mate. The schizophrenia doesn’t bother me. At least not the way you think it does. It doesn’t put me off, it just makes me… I don’t know. Worry about you, I guess, for your sake, not mine.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Danny. I’m just fine. Better than that, I’m happy.”

“Happy, eh? Works for me. I’ll be happy if you’ll be happy.”

“Yeah?” Danny heard the smile in Finn’s voice. “That sounds like a plan.”

A plan sounded like progress, but Danny figured asking Finn to elaborate would make him sound like a knobhead. Instead he said nothing and hoped for the best, a practice that rarely turned out well for him. But for someone who thought they were crap with words, Finn had a way of bringing a conversation full circle.

“Good,” Finn said. “If you can handle my questionable sanity, I can deal with you being an emo retard.”

“I’m not a bloody emo.”

Finn chuckled. “Whatever. I’m playing a solo gig tonight over in Mansfield. Come down if you’re not busy. We can do something after.”

D
ANNY
DIDN
’
T
take much persuading. After snatching another few hours of well-earned sleep and making a half-arsed effort to clean his flat, he took a shower and drove west out of the city.

Mansfield wasn’t an area Danny knew well. He parked his car outside the dubious pub Finn had directed him to. What was it with this bloke and dumps like these? Inside, though, the pub wasn’t as bad as Danny had feared. In fact with the roaring log fire and scent of mulled cider, it was more than decent.

Danny shut the door on the frosty night and headed for the bar. He bought a mug of hot cider and scanned the crowded pub. The textured, honeyed tones of Finn’s voice reeled him in like a siren call, but it took Danny a moment to spot his shaggy blond hair on a small stage in the pub’s cozy alcove.

Yep. Still gorgeous.

Danny felt a familiar warmth creep through him. He found a seat at the bar and soaked up the easy atmosphere of the pub. It was a far cry from the Lamps’ rowdy gig, but isolated and alone on stage, just a mic and his guitar, the laid-back vibe fit Finn like a glove. Danny relaxed. He’d loved the Lamps’ gig, but this felt more intimate, and it suited his mood.

Finn strummed his way through an eclectic set list, mixing up crowd-pleasers with unfamiliar songs Danny assumed were his own work. Danny loved it all, even discounting his unhealthy fixation with Finn’s hair. The gig passed in a flash, and Finn’s call for last-minute requests caught him off guard.

Danny bit his tongue. There were so many songs he’d love to hear Finn sing, but he wasn’t sure Finn had seen him come in, and announcing his presence in front of a crowd of ale-swilling locals felt all wrong.

Besides, Finn’s audience seemed to know him and had plenty requests of their own. It wasn’t until the third song that Danny knew for sure Finn had spotted him lurking at the back. He heard the waver in his voice and saw the flash of heat in his hazel eyes—a heat that matched the stirring in Danny’s heart.

Finn strummed the last few chords of his own unique take of “Supersonic.” He smiled, and though he didn’t meet Danny’s gaze, Danny knew the smile was for him. “Last one, folks. Give me something good.”

An elderly man called out a song. Finn chuckled. “Not my usual remit, but I’ll give it a go.”

He picked out a melody. Tapped out a rhythm on the back of his guitar. The chord pattern that followed was unfamiliar, but Danny recognized the lyrics. Fats Domino. “Ain’t That a Shame.” Danny’s father had played it every Sunday when they’d lived in the old house in Swansea, but he hadn’t heard it in years, and Finn’s grungy twist on the old jazz classic was something else.

The gig wrapped up. Finn set his guitar down and Danny found himself out of his seat and pushing through the crowd before he knew what he was doing. He reached the front as Finn stepped offstage and was rewarded with the brightest grin he’d ever seen. The connection was instant. Finn stepped right into Danny’s personal space, and Danny stared, transfixed. Gone were the dead, shadowed eyes of just a few days before. Finn was back and more beautiful than ever.

Danny swallowed hard, mindful of the people around them. He hadn’t spotted anyone who looked like a copper, but why would he? His squad was small, and they kept to themselves as much as possible. There were few beat coppers Danny would recognize out of uniform.

Maybe sensing Danny’s dilemma, or perhaps wanting to avoid the crowd for his own reasons, Finn grabbed Danny’s arm and yanked him into a deserted back room. Danny went willingly and spun them around, pressing Finn back against the closed door. “All right, mate?”

“I am now. Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I was.” Danny tucked a stray lock of Finn’s shaggy hair behind his ear, then put his palms flat on the grimy door. “Good gig?”

Finn shrugged, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. “Yeah, I guess. I play here a lot. I like the vibe. Wasn’t sure you would, though. Thought it might be too boring for you.”

“You’re joking, right? I love this shit. I’d watch someone play in their nan’s living room if they were any good.”

Finn smiled and leaned forward, his face inches from Danny’s. He took a breath, but instead of words came a kiss that made Danny sway on his feet.

Danny forgot himself. He pushed Finn back against the door and kissed the shit out of him. Absorbed him. Touched his heated skin and scratched the rough scruff on his jaw. Finn moaned and dug his nails into Danny’s chest. The touch lit Danny on fire. He pulled away. Snogging in the backroom of a workingmen’s pub was a bad idea at the best of times. They needed to leave. Now. “Are you done for the night?”

“Ten minutes.” Finn let his hands drop. “I need to pack up my gear. Meet you at the bar?”

Danny tilted his head, listening to the hum of the crowded pub. The place was packed shoulder to shoulder. “Sure? I can wait here? Give you a hand?”

“Don’t indulge the monster in my brain.” Finn tapped his temple. “I’ll find you.”

Danny left him to it. Finn didn’t seem the type to like being coddled, and though Danny felt relatively comfortable with Finn’s condition, he still didn’t know what the fuck to say when Finn said shit like that.

He made his way back to the bar. Finn’s kiss had turned him inside out and he felt like a pint, but the hot cider in his belly and his car parked outside put paid to that. Instead he loitered close to the fire, people watching and eavesdropping on the rave reviews of Finn’s set. Despite the bleak exterior, the pub was warm and welcoming, and Danny felt half-asleep when his phone rang in his pocket.

He pulled it out with a mind to rejecting the call and turning his phone off. The number on the screen stopped him. The DCI. Shit. His calls were never good news.

Danny answered the call and stepped outside. “Guv?”

“Evening, Danny. Sorry to bother you on your night off. Where are you at? Can you talk?”

“I’m out, but I’m good. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a body out by the A52. IC1 female, early twenties. Uniform reckons it could be a tom.”

Danny glanced over his shoulder, but no one had followed him out of the pub. “What makes them think it’s a tom?”

“Track marks. Clothes. No ID. They’re bringing her into Queen’s. I want you to get over there and take a look. See if it’s anyone you recognize.”

“What’s the COD?”

“Too early to tell, but they reckon she hasn’t been out there for long. Hopefully it’s just an OD, but we need to be sure. I don’t want to be caught on the hop with this.”

Danny scowled, glad his boss couldn’t see him.
Just an OD.
Who cared if the dead bag of bones was someone’s daughter or sister, right? Fuck’s sake. The DCI was a good bloke, as bosses went, but bullshit like that wound Danny up. “I’m in Mansfield right now. I can be there in an hour. Are you sending anyone else?”

“Not yet.” The DCI cleared his throat. “It might be nothing. Have a look. See what you think. Any questions?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Update me in the morning, and keep it quiet, even in the office. If there’s a connection with Manchester, we don’t want it getting out unhandled.”

“Guv.”

Danny killed the call. It was too early to draw comparisons with the run of missing prostitutes in Manchester, but he kept his opinions to himself. The evidence, or lack of it, would do the talking.

He pocketed the phone. His mind was already slipping into work mode, but he needed to find Finn before he dashed across the city to examine a dead body.

He went back inside and found Finn shouldering his way through the crowd, the only sign of his discomfort the tight grins he sent the way of folk who called his name.

Danny met him halfway, curving himself around Finn in a way that shielded most of him from the jostling crowd. “I gotta go. Work.”

Finn’s smile faded. “Work?”

“Yeah. My DCI called me in.”

Finn was bumped from behind. He flinched and took a deep breath. Danny took his arm and pulled him as close as he dared in the crowded bar. “Do you need a lift home?”

“What?”

Danny leaned closer and repeated the question.

Finn shook his head. “Nah. The van’s out the back.”

Danny looked beyond Finn to the door he could hardly see through the throngs of people blocking their way. He needed to get a bloody shift on, but something,
everything
screamed at him not to leave until he’d seen Finn safely on his way home.

He put his mouth close to Finn’s ear again, too close, but he was past caring. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

Chapter Seven

F
INN
PICKED
out a melancholy melody on the battered ukulele he’d had since childhood. The wood was faded and chipped and covered with dubious stickers he’d never get off, but aside from his beloved Gibson, the tiny instrument was his favorite piece of kit.