Keep your chin up.
Frank’s awkwardness almost made him smile. Almost. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They turned as one and resumed their descent. Beckett waited to speak again until they reached the ground level. “I need one more favor. Could you to find Walter Trissel?”
“Consider it done.” Again, there was a minute hesitation. “If you need a place to stay—”
“I’m good.” In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never been to Frank’s place. Beckett had given it up as a mystery that would never be solved a long time ago. He wasn’t going to allow it now out of pity.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have Walter nailed down.” Frank picked up his pace and pushed through the doors to the street. In seconds, he’d disappeared into a waiting car and was gone.
Beckett took five minutes to speak with the superintendent to assure the man he wasn’t going to sue or raise a stink about the break-in. With every second that passed, the walls inched a little bit closer, until he almost ran out of the fucking building.
The street was no better. Out there, he was too exposed, and even though he knew it was paranoia, it didn’t stop the feeling of being watched from making his skin itch. He pulled out his phone and dialed before he could think better of it.
“Beckett?”
The sound of Samara’s voice hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe past it. He could hang up, pretend the call was an accident, force the barriers between them back into place. It was the smart choice—both for him and for her.
But he found himself speaking without having any intent to. “I need you.”
“I’m here,” she responded instantly. “I’m in my condo right now. Do you want to come here or should I come to you?” No questions. No requests for clarification. Nothing but a quiet acceptance of his need.
“I can be there in ten.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter Eighteen
Samara met Beckett at the door. She took one look at the shell-shocked look on his face and the horrible burden he carried in his hands and threw her arms around him. “I’ve got you, Beckett. I have you.”
It took several long seconds for him to bring his arms around her and hug her back. He squeezed her and exhaled as though he was the one compressed. “Samara.” Just her name. Nothing more.
He didn’t have to say anything else.
She’d been there when he walked through his childhood home and picked up the few things that mattered to him. She’d witnessed the intimate window into his past that he’d offered that day. She recognized the bagged baby book for the depth of the loss it represented. It was not just an item. Nothing so simple as that.
Samara hugged him tighter, trying to offer comfort with her body that she didn’t think he’d take from her words. I’m here. You aren’t alone. I won’t leave. She stroked her hands up his back and down again, soothing in the only way she knew.
A shudder worked through him and he took a slow, haggard breath. “It was bad.”
I’m so sorry. Let me share this burden. More words she couldn’t voice. She just kept touching him, pressing as much of her body against as much of his that she could reach.
Another breath. “I’m not under suspicion of anything, but the apartment is unlivable.”
“You’ll stay here.” She didn’t form it as question, didn’t give him an option. Beckett was more than capable of setting himself up in a hotel for the time being while he figured out his next step, but Samara couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone. He was already too isolated. Untethered. She couldn’t shake the irrational belief that he’d float away if she let go of him. “Stay with me, Beckett,” she repeated.
He stirred as if registering where they were for the first time. “You don’t have to offer.”
“I want you here, so I’m going to have you here.” When he made no motion to move, she slipped back and led him into the kitchen.
It was only then that she noticed the blood on his cuffs and marring his hands. “Beckett?” Samara worked to keep the alarm from her tone. “What’s this?”
He shook his head as if shaking off a dream. “Pig blood. You’ll be happy to know no one was murdered in my place. It was all for show.”
She’d bet whoever trashed his place didn’t realize he’d be gone all night. They probably knew about his trip to LA and they’d planned on him coming home, tired after a day of meetings and traveling, and walking into that scene unsuspectingly.
Fury roared through her, turning any doubts she had to ash. Beckett hadn’t done anything to deserve this level of hate. Even if he had been the biggest piece of shit in existence, it didn’t justify this systematic dismantling of his life.
She tugged him over to the sink and turned the water on. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
That got a reaction. He disentangled himself from her. “I’m okay. It was shocking and upsetting, but I’m okay. I don’t need you to handle me.”
Words he’d spoken to her after the reading of his father’s will. It felt like a hundred years ago instead of less than a week. She met his gaze directly. “Some days we all need a little handling. You already bear the weight of so much, Beckett. Let me help shoulder the burden, even if it’s only for tonight.”
She took the bag from his hands and set it on the counter in clear sight, and then unbuttoned his shirt. He watched her like a hawk as she slid it off his shoulders, but Beckett made no move to touch her.
