Page 69 of Oddly Fine

“I don’t know how to do this,” Beckett said, after a moment.

Hayes found refuge in the fact that he said how, and not if. If this was to be his only comfort, then it was better than the sardonic humor that had pervaded their previous conversations.

“Together,” Hayes said, summoning his confidence and faith in their relationship. Usually, Beckett would snipe at him about being overly sentimental, but not this time. “We do this together. Whatever you need,” Hayes assured him.

Beckett sighed brokenly, not seeming all that reassured.

Hayes sneaked a quick look at Beckett’s face, taken aback when he noticed that Beckett looked guilty.

“I don’t think you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to be my partner,” Beckett said as frowned and shook his head.

This surprising observation made Hayes laugh boisterously. It was the understatement of the century, clearly. Of course, he hadn’t known. All he’d had to go on before their initial meeting at the Nebraska jail was a bare bones file, and a quick phone conversation with Gill, who’d simply stated, “He’s a straight shooter. A little—unconventional, and abrasive, but loyal and courageous. He’ll have your back.”

“I knew everything I needed to know when I bailed you out of that jail cell.” That day was a classic example of the craziness of life with Beckett. “We should get going.” He wasn’t sure what to do next, but standing on the side of the road wasn’t on the list.

“I want to break into my brother’s loft.” Beckett’s casual tone was just like the one he used when planning what he wanted for dinner.

Hayes hummed thoughtfully and nodded.

“You got your lock pick set with you? Or do we have to swing by the house?” He’d never actually seen Beckett pick a lock, but he’d heard plenty of stories about his exploits from his military service buddies.

“You’re not going to try and convince me not to? Tell me I’m being ridiculous? Talk me into just letting this shit go?” Beckett was still nestled against Hayes’ chest, looking and sounding exhausted. No spark and none of the usual oomph that were unique to Beckett. Just sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings. Hayes found it somewhat disconcerting, and wondered if he should have raised those very points from the outset. Then again—get him to let go of what? Franklin was dead. Hard to deny that because of the goddamned video.

“Don’t shut me out, and I’ll go anywhere you want to go,” Hayes said, because it was the absolute truth.

Beckett took a deep breath and then pulled back to look up at Hayes.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, carefully masking his feelings and burying them deep inside. He stepped away, forcing Hayes to drop his arms. Rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, he abruptly returned to his usual confident, troublemaking self as he smiled with wicked intent.

“Now, let’s go commit a felony!” he declared before marching back to the car as though nothing had happened.

Hayes snorted in disbelief at this miraculous turnaround, wondering exactly what was going on in that hamster-wheel brain. Having little choice but to follow that incredibly fine ass, he just hoped like hell they didn’t end up sharing a jail cell. Once had been enough for this lifetime, thank you very much.

Surely, someone in the family must have a key to Franklin’s condo. Yet—here they were, breaking in like common thieves. Hayes hadn’t bothered to mention that there were probably much easier ways. However, it was a safe assumption that the illegality of breaking in gave Beckett a thrill, which in turn distracted him from his grief. Hayes figured that was as good a reason as any to let this all play out as Beckett’s mood had improved considerably since devising this plan.

“You still haven’t told me where you learned to pick locks,” Hayes said. It wasn’t really a question, but it was close enough.

“And I don’t know where you learned to do that thing with your tongue—” he retorted, looking up to waggle his eyebrows at Hayes flirtatiously. “Mystery keeps the relationship alive,” he stated resolutely, like it was a universal truth.

“Sure as hell wasn’t part of the SEAL curriculum,” Hayes mumbled to himself while keeping a lookout for anyone entering the hallway.

“The tongue thing?” Beckett asked distractedly while focusing on the task of manipulating the pins in the lock.

“Picking locks,” Hayes repeated impatiently.

“That’s ‘cause you Navy pansies are too dramatic for sneaky entrances. Always kicking down doors and using C-4—” Beckett criticized with an arrogant smirk as he listed what he felt were obvious flaws in SEALs tactics.

“Well, this wasn’t in the C.U.N.T. handbook either, so I’m not buying it,” Hayes said, shaking his head. Franklin lived—had lived—on the 3rd floor of a condominium building. It was a nice place that had once been an old factory but had recently been converted into high-end condos. They’d had to lie their way into the building, but once inside they jumped into the fancy elevator and had gone directly to the 3rd floor. Franklin owned the condo at the end of the hallway. There were only four condos per floor. So, although the likelihood of getting caught was low—it would be damned hard to explain exactly what they were doing if anyone did spot them.

“Are you asking because you’re curious, jealous, or turned on?” Beckett asked as he straightened up, his tools still in hand, a familiar glint of teasing humour in his eyes. It had been a long two days since Hayes had seen that expression, and it filled him with a considerable measure of relief to see Beckett returning to normal.

“Stop flirting and get going. We’re going to get caught,” he warned in an attempt to get Beckett to focus on the job instead of quizzing Hayes about his feelings.

Beckett snorted and gave the handle a push. The door of the condo swung open on silent hinges.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing for Hayes to proceed inside.

Hayes didn’t even bother arguing with him; he simply led the way. Franklin’s place was exactly how he’d envisioned it: sleek, cold, and perfectly neat. Not a single thing was out of place. Hell, it was difficult to believe anyone really lived there it was so spotless. No used mug in the sink, no kitchen towel hanging on the oven door, no unpaid bills on the table. It looked like an IKEA showroom—expensive and perfectly staged.