Bad Behavior Page 3

  Chapter Two

  TAI WATCHED Beauchamp turn the corner for the elevator before he sprinted to Sutton’s office. Tai had worked for Sutton for five years, never asked for shit, always took the crap cases. Hell, he’d take two to unload Beauchamp, as long as there were no questions asked about why.

  The doors always stuck; too much fucking humidity. He shoved it open, the argument already spilling from his head. “I’ll take—trade any other client, but I can’t work the Beauchamp case.”

  “Just a second, sir.” Sutton glared at Tai, then jabbed a button on the phone. “What the fuck is with you, Fonoti? You don’t know how to knock? You think I got time for you to whine while I’m on the phone with the goddamned DA?”

  Until that moment, Tai had Sutton’s leadership style categorized as lots of bad jokes and backslapping encouragement, but right then he could have given the scariest defensive line coach lessons in heckling. It hit with the same shock as the day Tai had realized he wasn’t going to the NFL.

  Sutton sagged in his chair. “Look, be a miracle if Bob doesn’t take the whole fucking department with him. Just do your job, Fonoti. Is that too much to ask?”

  There wasn’t a good time to say I fucked a client and wouldn’t mind doing it again. But this, this was a supremely bad one. “Got it.” Not that Tai had been about to spill the truth. No way in hell could he do his job if every probie he hauled in for a drug test claimed Tai was staring at his dick.

  He dragged the door into the jamb as quietly as he could and lowered his head against the wood before heading off to do the parts of his job that didn’t involve trying to forget how every hitch of David Beauchamp’s breath showed how very much he wanted to give up control.

  BEACH SWORE the Spider had an insulted inquiry in its purr as it rounded the corner where the GPS had led them. “Yeah, baby, I’m not too keen on this street either.”

  A cargo container, the top of which was covered with trash, occupied half the driving lane on the one-way street. He must have misheard Gavin, but there was his friend’s Bentley, tucked into the alley behind an Audi. Beach might have spent a good portion of the spring in a coma, but he’d been awake long enough to have heard if there was some urban renewal real-estate boom going on in West Baltimore. He pulled his Spider in behind the Bentley and patted her steering wheel. “It’s okay, baby. Daddy won’t make you sit here long.”

  He rounded the front of the building to see Gavin nodding and talking with a woman who screamed realtor from the tip of her sleek bun to the heels on her four-inch pumps. Beach did a second go-over from the hem down. Nice legs. A lickable line of muscle cut in the sleek brown calves. He was considering pretending to take a look around the side of the building to get a read on the rest of her package when Gavin caught his eye and pursed his lips.

  Gavin was decidedly less fun these days. He’d always been a bit of a melancholy-poet type, but Beach had been able to shake him out of that. Now that Gavin was fucking a cop regularly, he seemed to be infected with a fatal case of law-and-order morality.

  “What do you think?” Gavin said, turning to Beach and cocking his head at the pile of white bricks they were apparently there to inspect. “Eden Hadley, my friend, David Beauchamp.”

  “Mr. Beauchamp.” The realtor offered a cool, soft, and exquisitely manicured hand.

  Beach allowed the firm business shake, feeling her size him up, appraising him as a potential ally or threat to her sale. As her grip relaxed, he gave her hand a gentle turn and bowed over it. “My absolute pleasure. Call me Beach.”

  Her lashes dipped. To make it clear he and Gavin were not that sort of friend, he let his gaze caress the purple lace edging of the camisole under her gray-striped suit jacket. Turning back to Gavin, he asked, “What do I think of what? This oversized prison guard tower?” To Eden he offered a wink and a grin.

  Not mollified, she straightened, pointing at the odd glassed-in top. “The solarium was a former art studio. The chain fencing was required by code enforcement, but of course you would be free to replace it with a more decorative safety measure.”

  Gavin cocked his head at Beach. “I meant the neighborhood.”

  “In the daytime I’m only slightly terrified to leave my baby unattended. I know you want to move out of the manor as soon as the latest Montgomery has debuted. But—”

  “It’s for a foundation.”

  “Ah.” That explained everything. Some sort of guilt complex for having been lucky enough to be born with a platinum spoon in his mouth made Gavin the belle of the ball in the charity circuit, popping up on boards and committees. Beach wrote out donation checks and showed up when there was a ticket to something that sounded fun. Gavin’s level of hands-on sounded like martyrdom. Worse, it sounded utterly boring. “I’m sure the foundation will love it.” He delivered himself to Eden for redemption and received an open-mouthed smile in return.

  “Do you ever read your emails?” Gavin asked.

  “Every one of them,” Beach lied without a blink. “So, Gavin, fond of you as I am, I actually was looking for your pet policeman.”

  “Lucky you. He said he’d meet me here if he could. Shall we?” Gavin said to Eden, who produced a key that admitted them to the building.

  As Beach held the door for the lady, he passed her his card. Gavin moved on ahead of him, inspecting the wood-paneled hall.

  “If you ever have trouble contacting Mr. Montgomery, I’m sure I can track him down for you.” She accepted the card and his flimsy excuse with a coquettish nod. Last night had been amazing—even if the morning had held a rather rude reintroduction. This was an entirely different kind of game, and Beach liked his odds of winning, especially when she tucked the card inside her camisole.

  Gavin finished his inspection of the stairs and came back toward them. The entryway was solid, at least—the stairs free of gaps or holes, with double-sized archways to either side—but through the archways, stacks of rotted boxes decayed against peeling walls.

  “It’s fortunate to find a gas-furnace conversion in a building of this age,” the realtor pointed out. “A real savings in the long run.”

  “And what age would that be?” Beach asked.

  “The original building dates back to 1894.”

  “Any problems with the original owners?” Beach poked his cane at the boarded-up window.

  “Excuse me?”

  Beach was getting that a lot today. Must be his charm was in need of rebooting.

  “Beach is referring to ghosts. He’s a little obsessed with them,” Gavin explained.

  “They are obsessed with my family home. Can’t stand to share it.”

  Eden split her attention between them as if she were watching a tennis match, no doubt trying to determine if this was a scam to drive down the asking price. “There’s been no report of—”

  One of the boards Beach had poked snapped in two, making all three of them jump.

  “This is really a charming place, Gavin. What does your foundation expect to do to get it at all useful?”

  Gavin clapped Beach on the shoulder, forcing him to put more weight on his cane. “We’re looking forward to a lot of volunteerism. I know you’ve got all that free time on your hands, given your inability to leave the county.”

  “Thank you so very much for mentioning it.” Beach could read faces like Gavin read poetry, and Eden was about to leave his card on the floor with the rest of the ancient rubble. “I don’t have a phobia or anything so dire,” he offered in clarification, then stopped, realizing a phobia might sound eccentric, while being bound with a tracking anklet in lieu of sitting in jail came off as dangerous.

  “Christ, Gavin, what the fuck are you thinking with this shithole?” The complaint could only be from Gavin’s bantam rooster of a boyfriend, stomping his way in. Clouds of mortar dust sprouted under his shoes, glowing in the single beam of light from the window. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Beach was happy to see the arrogant prick.

  “Actual
ly”—Beach turned to Eden with the first genuine smile he’d felt all day—“I’m thinking I’ll be able to take my yacht out on the bay very soon. Or perhaps make a weekend trip to Saratoga when the races start.”

  There was a slight thaw from Eden as the bellicose presence of Jamie made it clear she would need additional allies.

  “It’s a multiuse space. Some of it could be turned to investment opportunities.” Eden indicated a side door that appeared to have at one time been a garage-sized opening, now bricked to a standard size. Judging by the sheer amount of crap left behind, Beach was guessing a former life as a warehouse.

  “We won’t be renting any of the space.” Gavin’s voice was firm.

  “You never said what your foundation intended to do with the building, Mr. Montgomery.” Eden led them back toward the hall.

  “The foundation is establishing a shelter—”

  “For rats?” Beach murmured to Jamie. As sweet as the rear view of Eden Hadley was, Beach had come here to pursue a more pressing need, and as much as he loathed the necessity, he had to make an effort to endear himself to stompy and short.

  Jamie snorted a laugh, and Gavin tossed a glare back at them as he continued, “—for homeless LGBTQ teens and young adults.”

  The realtor’s reaction was somewhere between an ah and a hm. While Beach couldn’t see the point in wallowing in so much guilt you felt you had to take on the world’s problems, he also couldn’t imagine anyone would object to sheltering homeless children.

  “Is that a problem, Miss Hadley?” Gavin’s voice dropped the room temperature several degrees. Considering that it was an un-air-conditioned space in Baltimore in July, the chill was almost pleasant.

  The realtor rushed in to take the edge off. “Of course not, Mr. Montgomery. Though with that information ahead of time, I would have guided you to a space more suitable for that sort of living arrangement.”

  “I’d prefer a space we can adapt to our needs. You said there was a kitchen on this floor?” Gavin’s strides moved him ahead of the realtor. He was playing it cool, but Beach had known him for over twenty years, and Gavin wanted this place.

  The space to the left of the entryway was much less debris-filled, empty and dusty. “You’ve never seen him like this, when he gets involved in a project.” Beach stopped and leaned on his cane, leaving Jamie with the choice of walking around him or kicking the cane out from under him. Based on the narrowing of Jamie’s eyes, Beach had better make this fast if he didn’t want to find out how the mortar dust tasted. “Our Gavin may not be very expressive, but he does feel things deeply. When he finds something worthwhile, he gives it his full commitment.”

  As the disgust curled Jamie’s lip, Beach wondered if perhaps that was the wrong opening for a conversation with the boyfriend.

  “You think you gotta tell me that? Hell, you’re not even worthwhile, and he’s still friends with you. Though you tried to kill him twice.”

  “I wasn’t—” Beach began, but he knew Jamie wouldn’t hear the facts, that Gavin had chosen to come after Beach both times, that there was honor at stake. Something he doubted was part of whatever passed for a policeman’s training. “And I am heartily suffering for it,” Beach assured Jamie with a palm raised in surrender and a cane thump for emphasis.

  “Not nearly enough.” Jamie heaved a sigh, sending some more dust swirling, his gaze already moving past Beach, on to his homeless-shelter-obsessed boyfriend.

  “But I am.” Beach tugged on his jean leg to reveal his anklet. “Worse, the probation officer they’ve assigned me has serious boundary issues. I do believe he’s coming on to me.”

  “Christ, Beauchamp, you get any more melodramatic, you’ll be fanning yourself and fainting. What the fuck you mean, coming on to you?”

  At least Beach had secured Jamie’s complete attention. “I mean, the way he came up behind me, pressing against my ass while he was helping me get a sample for my urine test. And the things he said.” Come. Now. The memory of that voice sent heat pouring over him like Carolina sunshine.

  Jamie studied Beach’s face. “That’s out of line. Illegal kind of out of line. You’re technically in custody.”

  “I thought so. If I were to report this—”

  “He’d be screwed. What office they send you to?”

  “Dundalk.”

  Jamie reared back. “Aw hell. They’re already so fucked over with the drunk-driving mess. They’ll be all over that like flies on shit.”

  “On the other hand, maybe he’d be willing to loosen the ball and chain.” Beach tapped lightly on his ankle cuff.

  “God, you don’t take responsibility for anything, do you? Half kill your friend, drag him into burglary—”

  “We weren’t stealing anything. I was merely making an effort to retrieve my family’s property.”

  “What would you call it if people were wandering through your house?”

  “A reason to reach for a rifle.”

  “Exactly. Because it’s burglary. You’re lucky the charges aren’t worse, lucky as hell Gavin’s not going down with you, and you still think you should walk free because you know how to shake your ass?”

  “I never knew you’d noticed,” Beach cooed.

  “You disgust me.” Jamie stomped away.

  Beach smiled at his short-legged progress. He had his answer. Nothing Jamie had said meant things wouldn’t go exactly as Beach planned.

  Chapter Three

  THE NEXT time Bob decided to go on a bender, he could fucking well get some paperwork out of the way first. After the adventure with Beauchamp that morning, Tai’s day had been quiet. His spot-check on his teenagers found them both in summer school where they were supposed to be. With only him and DiBlasi, they couldn’t do much out of the office, so Tai gritted his teeth and started clearing through Bob’s files.

  At six thirty that night, Tai slammed the drawer on his filing cabinet and punched the lock. Before he could get the hell out, Sutton popped up in his doorway.

  The field director looked like shit, and Tai could almost feel sorry for the bastard, if it wasn’t his own damned fault for enabling Bob’s fuckups until everything hit the fan.

  Sutton pinched the bridge of his nose, shoving his glasses sideways. “What was that case you were bitching about this morning?”

  “David Beauchamp, some asshole with more money than brains. He—”

  Sutton held up a hand. “I don’t give a shit what’s got your panties in a twist. You wanna switch it with one of DiBlasi’s, tell him I said to do it.”

  Tai nodded.

  “You’re welcome, Fonoti. They don’t do manners where you come from?”

  “Washington Hill?” Tai squared his shoulders.

  “Really? Thought you were Hawaiian or something.”

  Or something fit. Tai had been checking the “Other” box under ethnicity all his life.

  Black, yes. White, yes. Pacific Islander, yes. “Samoan.”

  “Yeah? How they say ‘thank you’ in Samoan?”

  “I don’t know. I grew up in Washington Hill.” Other than when he’d been hired, this was the longest conversation Tai had ever had with Sutton. And he hoped they never had another one go on this long.

  “You said.” Sutton hoisted the strap of an overstuffed business case to his shoulder. “Okay. That’s it. Aloha, Fonoti.”

  “Still not Hawaiian,” Tai muttered under his breath.

  AS TAI pulled his head out from under the shower, he heard the last of his ringtone cut off as his phone went to voicemail. He finished rinsing and hopped out, drying enough to grab his phone. Four missed calls in a six-minute shower was pretty impressive.

  He played his voicemail.

  DiBlasi first: “Who the fuck is this asshat you’re dumping on me? I’m sticking you with both of Bob’s JD girls for this. Did you fucking forget my daughter’s getting married tomorrow?”

  Whatever. No one liked getting stuck with the female juvenile offenders, but it was better than de
aling with Beauchamp after what had happened.

  His mom was next: “Hi, la’u tama. Phillip and I both have the Fourth off for a change. We’d love to have you out for a barbecue. You know I’d love to see Sammie, and Gina is always welcome. Or if there’s someone you’d like me to meet….”

  The word boyfriend might not be something his mom found it easy to use in connection to her only son, but she’d accepted his explanation for why he’d be supporting Sammie as his daughter but not marrying the baby’s mother. He couldn’t help but wonder if his mom had harbored some hope he’d have an epiphany of normal. But her hopes—and Tai’s illusion of family—had all gone to hell when Josh came back in the picture. Josh and the damned paternity test. Tai couldn’t wrap his brain around that. For three years Sammie’d been his. She would always feel like his, no matter what the DNA said. With that ache nice and fresh, he should have predicted the next message would be from Gina.

  “Having a barbecue tomorrow if you want to stop over.”

  Yes, stop over and see Sammie and Gina snuggled in with Josh’s family. Josh put up with Tai coming around, let him have access to the child who still called him Daddy—mostly because of Gina. Though he was glad Josh had moved them out to Overlea. Better schools, less chance of Sammie running around with future probation clients.

  The last one read out as a private number.

  “Ah—um—well.” The voice was barely familiar, a tease in his ears. “My lawyer—well, it’s Beach, uh, David Beauchamp. My lawyer said I should call you. I’m afraid I’m going to be a bit delayed for my curfew. My car’s been impounded.” Then quickly, “I wasn’t breaking any laws, not even speeding. But….” After he let that trail off, the message was over.

  Tai pressed Callback. As soon as he heard some breath on the line, he snapped, “What happened?”