Page 144 of Oddly Fine

“See you later, hot stuff,” he teased, before grabbing Hayes’ hand and pulling him out the door.

“Thank you again,” Hayes said politely, totally at odds with the situation.

But Jeremy didn’t seem to mind, as he snorted and shook his head when he shut the door behind them.

Chapter 26

Crushed, ceramic-coated rock particles dug mercilessly into Beckett’s forearms, and he shifted around, trying to get comfortable, despite knowing that was not fucking happening.

“If you keep squirming, they’ll see you,” Hayes warned softly.

“Shut up.” Beckett’s reply was lame-assed, as he wiggled around some more. They’d been on this stupid stakeout for hours. While technically Hayes had advised him to bring something thick and cushiony to lie down on—he’d not taken his advice. He wasn’t some kind of hothouse flower; he could lie on his stomach without needing a goddamned picnic blanket.

He’d been wrong, of course. He was uncomfortable as fuck. The rough asphalt surface of the roof they were lying on during the stakeout was digging into his skin even through his clothing. To make matters worse, he was a little sore from last night’s adventure which made lying on his side equally uncomfortable. Hayes—who’d brought the necessary equipment, and hadn’t moved in hours—remained eerily still in their dark hiding spot. A picture-perfect sniper. He was scoping out the dock through binoculars. They’d left his sniper rifle in the trunk of the car. The goal this time was to observe, not to shoot anyone—at least that’s what Hayes had reminded him of at least three times on the ride over. To his way of thinking, this restriction took all the fun out of the job.

“Anything interesting happening?” He had his own set of binoculars. Hayes had brought them, because he was the planner in their relationship.

“Why don’t you check for yourself?” Hayes asked sarcastically, indicating that he knew exactly what Beckett was up to.

“Nah—too busy being difficult, as usual—besides, I’d rather stare at your fine ass and complain.”

“Just another Monday then,” Hayes said, smiling fondly at his partner.

“We’re properly domesticated, you and I,” Beckett said, amused as he gazed out across the St. Lawrence River. The docks were rather quiet at night, even as members of the Serbian Mafia milled about, waiting for their next shipment to come in.

After their meeting with Franklin, they’d agreed that as soon as they had concrete proof of Hayes’ theory, they’d take it straight to the feds. To help them get that proof, Adeline had managed to hack into a few of the mob’s cellphones, retrieving data about a shipment arriving later tonight. Originally, they’d thought about storming the place—trying to intercept it and see for themselves that people were being offloaded, but then they’d shot down their own plan. After kidnapping one of the top men a couple of days ago, Hayes and Beckett knew the Serbians would have tightened their security. They’d be heavily armed and ready to defend themselves and their shipment. Hayes and Beckett were good, but they weren’t superheroes. There was no way they could overtake that many armed gangsters and make it out alive. Instead, they’d settled for watching the shipment arrive. Hopefully, they’d see something worth reporting to the feds.

“Cargo ship approaching,” Hayes said. He set the binoculars to the side and reached for the expensive-as-hell camera they’d poached from Matthew. If they saw anything worthwhile at the docks, they’d snap a few pictures and bring them back as evidence. They were really grasping at straws on how to prove Hayes’ wild theory, but Beckett kept repeating that they didn’t need solid evidence at this stage. They just needed probable cause to convince the FBI that it was worth their time to raid the factory.

With a sigh, he picked up the binoculars he’d set aside and tried again to get comfortable. He shifted a few times, bunching up the fabric of his jacket to give himself a little bit of an extra cushion against the rough asphalt, but it was futile.

“Here,” Hayes said eventually, not even bothering to look away from the camera lens while pushing a backpack towards him. He’d used it to transport the camera, so it was empty now.

Beckett folded it and used it as a pillow to rest on. It wasn’t all that comfortable but it helped.

“Thanks,” he muttered reluctantly.

“You’re an idiot,” Hayes said, but every time he said that, Beckett believed him less and less. His tone was too mild for that remark to ever be considered a true insult.

“And you’re in love with me—which, by my calculations, makes you a moron.”

Hayes said nothing, but even in the darkness, Beckett could tell he was smiling.

It took about 45 minutes for the workers to transfer the three cargo containers off the ship onto the dock so they could unload their contents.

“The truck’s here,” Hayes said, getting a few shots of the armoured vehicle. Beckett gazed through the binoculars, trying to spot anything interesting. His attention was captured by a limping figure crossing the dock, heading towards the three containers.

“Oh, look—Bozo’s back at work! You’d think the Mafia would have a better healthcare plan,” he mused, mostly to annoy his better half.

“First container has been opened,” Hayes said.

Beckett returned to monitoring activities around the cargo containers. Sure enough, they’d gotten the first one open. A forklift driver was in the process of unloading plastic-wrapped bundles of doors, windows, and wood from the container and then loading them into trucks.

“I feel like one of those old, retired guys who stops by the construction site on his daily walks and just—stares at the excavation equipment.”

Hayes merely hummed in understanding.

“Think I’m looking at my future?”